The Boogeyman
by Windschild8178
Summary: The Boogeyman is real. And he has been haunting Ron's nightmares for years. Believed to be the imaginings of an easily frightened child, no one ever believed him. As Fifth year gets into full swing, all the dark secrets Ron's kept locked up are unfolding in the most unexpected of ways and Umbridge is determined to make an example of him.
1. Author's Note: Can Skip

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

 **[This can be skipped. It is just the summary and my thoughts on the story and how it came to be.]**

 **Boogeyman**

Summary:

The Boogeyman is real. And he has been haunting Ron's nightmares for years. Believed to be the imaginings of an easily frightened child, no one ever believed him. As Fifth year gets into full swing, all the dark secrets Ron's kept locked up are unfolding in the most unexpected of ways and Umbridge is determined to make an example of him.

Alternative fifth year. Angst. Hurt. Comfort. Drama. Suspense. [Authors status quo, basically]

I will be starting the story at the first scene that deviates from the books. In this case, Ron **does not** join the quidditch team for reasons that become more obvious as the plot develops.

A lot of the scenes from the Order of the Phoenix are the same, so I'll be doing quick summaries just to ensure that you are aware of where we are in the book. If I've written a scene from the book then that means that there is a change. It starts out super subtle but then deviates after November. The further into the story we get, the more familiar the scenes will become before completely derailing.

I actually planned on posting the whole thing for Halloween, but it got quite a bit longer than I originally meant this piece to be.

* * *

 **Warnings** : There are a lot of dark topics discussed in this story. I will not be listing anything specific because it would spoil the secret. If there is a problem with this then don't read the story. I post everything at the appropriate level so if you are somehow still offended or triggered then you should clearly be reading at a lower warning tag.

I've always had this idea that the crueler monsters started out with small things and gradually made their way to the horrors they cause. I don't think anyone starts out in the big leagues, you know? They start out with 'just this once' and 'this isn't that bad' and then gradual over time start to think 'this isn't so terrible' and 'they deserve what I'm doing.' They start to try to justify their cruelty until it becomes reality for them. Twisting the way they view things until... suddenly, they are the worst of the worst. They no longer justify and instead feel as if they are superior and that the cruelty they show others is simply because the victims are inferior. They start to think they deserve to be on top and that the victims deserve it for some slight they've made up in their minds.

And the change IS gradual. Its hardly noticeable how subtle the change is until the person's thoughts on a subject at the beginning is completely different at the end. For 'The Boogeyman' the villain is someone who is primarily motivated by fear and self-preservation, but as the story progresses, it becomes clear that they are doing it for the joy of it by the end. They thrive on power and the need to be in control and to feel important not just to be important. I always thought this villain was very underused in the Harry Potter series and that it was odd how such a vile creature was never fully explored.

* * *

This idea has been itching at the back of my head for years. I was almost shocked when I realized I'd finished the last chapter. It seemed as if it would never come together. But it did. For so long I struggled to write this story in a manner that justified the terrible concept. I understood why the idea was never explored in the original books [ it is a children's series at the end of the day], but at the same time... it was such a huge thing that went completely ignored. There was never any closer or even contemplation on what it all meant. And I know I'm being vague as fuck, but by the end of the story you'll completely understand what I mean.

The story will start **at the divergent point** in fifth year. The night that Ron catches Harry coming out of detention with Umbridge to see Harry's hand. That means that everything that happened during the summer and all the way up to this point in their school lives is exactly the same. Many of you may recognize the first scene from the book: Order of the Phoenix, page 271, chapter: Detention with Dolores. I debated where to start the story and a part of me really wanted to start in the summer before they ever left, but when I started writing, I realized I was doing a whole lot of fluff pieces that really didn't have anything to do with the story I wanted to tell so I cut it.

You know, writing my thoughts on the story BEFORE I put the chapters up seems to be a really great means to avoid all the ridiculous Author's notes that I tend to put up. They always seem so important at the time, but now that I've started writing out the few things that are really necessary right at the start, I feel like all the other stuff just gets in the way of the story.

* * *

 **Cool Story Bro: Another Rant- talk about how the story came to be.**

People assume Hermione reads fiction. There are tons of stories out there that depict her admiration for Jane Austin's works and Charles Dickens and other such things, but not once in the entire series of Harry Potter was she stated to be reading anything but nonfiction outside of _The Tale of Beedle the Bard_ and this only because it was left to her by Dumbledore as a clue. One of Hermione's biggest flaws is her lack of imagination and flexibility. Luna Lovegood is her foil for a reason. I always pictured Hermione as seeing fiction as sort of silly endeavor. Ron, on the other hand, talked about the tales with such fondness. Fiction books were never really spoken of in the Harry Potter series to the point where it seems they don't really exist. Of course, that can't really be true, can it? We all know Ron is rather smart, but he only puts forth the effort with the things he has a passion for. When he does, he demonstrates how talented and intelligent he is. I myself lack an interest in nonfiction. I've always been obsessed with the more whimsical side of reading and I've always demonstrated a very specialized knowledge, like Ron has. I imagine for someone like Hermione that can be very frustrating who is aggressive in her need for control and expanding her knowledge to see such behavior in her best friend. In concerns to intelligence, I've always thought Ron leaned more towards the Luna Lovegood side rather than the Hermione Granger. As demonstrated by Ron learning about Remus Lupin, Ron has the ability to adjust his beliefs and thoughts in an instant if he comes across information that suggests he's wrong. He demonstrated his ability to research through the Buckbeak trial research. He showed his strategic intelligence through the McGonagall's chess set. He showed instinct and quick wits in the office of Umbridge's where he led the others to taking down the squad of Slytherines. Despite what many people think, he really is quite smart. The point being that I could totally see Ron being a fiction lover if given the opportunity.

Sometime in chapter 3? Hermione is browsing the Fiction section and the 'books' she's looking through in Flourish and Blotts actually comes from various Ron Weasley fanfiction I've read that were fantastic.

Instincts-ability?

There have been jokes made that Ron is secretly a seer because his instincts are so on par. Ron himself tried to explain [poorly, unfortunately] this ability when Harry demanded why Ron wouldn't let him say Voldemort's name. Ron insisted that he could 'feel' that something was wrong and was later proven right when they discovered the name had been tabooed with a curse. Ron was right when he said that Harry would suffer but be happy about it, reading the tea leaves of the Grim that was really Sirius in that Harry would meet his godfather, learn the truth, suffer, but be glad that he 'somewhat' had Sirius in his life now. He was right about Riddle murdering Moaning Mertle. And let's not forget that despite what the movies may have presented that it was Ron who broke Voldemort's silencing spell to scream across the battlefield and start the charge, not Neville. There's a million examples of this unexplained innate knowledge Ron tends to have about events happening around them and it is so much fun to explore ideas surrounding it [one of the best being 'Choices' by random fruitcake04].

Which leads me into another topic: How unexplored Ron's character is despite how many thrilling concepts surround his character.

-The scars he earned in the Department of Mysteries from an experiment in a top secret lab. I mean come on! Nothing? Nothing at all? I have at least three stories on the back burner in my lap top diving into the different types of repercussions this could have. Like what do you mean there's nothing that came of it?

-The weird ability mentioned above that no one ever talks about

-A Death Eater hiding in the Weasley's family home for TWELVE years.

-The weird dismissal of his character by everyone but Harry. Teachers, classmates, enemies, strangers… perhaps a little dismissal would be expected, but by everyone the trio comes in contact with, ever? It's just… bazaar to me.

-The very strange actions in the Weasley family towards Ron: The only kid that doesn't get his own wand? The only one given such horrible dress robes when four of the Weasley kids went to the Yule Ball? The way there doesn't seem to be one positive interaction between Ron and his siblings in the books- and believe me, I've looked. Outside of them being there for him in the hospital, I really couldn't find any 'nice' moments. It was always harsh teasing or arguments. I think the tent scene after the Quidditch World Cup was the best thing I read and they were still making fun of Ron for gushing over how awesome Krum was. Its very strange especially since Rowling laments over how much Ron loves his siblings and how 'close' they are in the books. From Harry's perspective, the tone between Ron and his family is fond but the actual observations are very contradicting.

-Ron's five weeks or so of being gone in Deathly Hallows which I've obviously explored to the point where you can put the nails in the coffin. Lol.

-Ron's ability to _copy_ parseltongue from overhearing it a few times. Like holy shit bro.

-The fact that Ron's been poisoned by both a dragon's bite for his first adventure and lethal mead on his coming of age [both featuring Hagrid in tears I might add] I love the full circle Rowling.

-Ron's Uncle Bilius DYING not even 24 hour after he claimed the Grim was after him while he was in a very secure wizarding hospital

All in all, Ron is the best character.

 **Also This:** Why name Ron as a character if you're going to bash him? Why? Why? Why? If you don't like Ron then WHY do you put him down as a main character tag? It is so frustrating to find good fanfiction with him in it when people who don't like him name him as a central character of the story! over 26,000 stories with him in it and 23,000 of them have him in a bad light. So for all who **bash** and **tag**... Fuck you.


	2. Chapter 1: Dismissal

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

A/N: The story starts AT the divergent point in fifth year

Summary: The Boogeyman is real. And he has been haunting Ron's nightmares for years. Believed to be the imaginings of an easily frightened child, no one ever believed him. As Fifth year gets into full swing, all the dark secrets Ron's kept locked up are unfolding in the most unexpected of ways and Umbridge is determined to make an example of him.

"Ron Weasley is "always there when you need him." Implies that - like Jo's friend Sean, Ron represents freedom to Harry."

-2001 J.K Rowling & Chris Lyndon

* * *

Chapter 1: Dismissal

Harry's hand was killing him. He hissed in pain as he waved it through the air. Flecks of blood staining his shirt. He had never before considered the possibility that there might be another teacher in the world he hated more than Snape, but as he walked back toward Gryffindor Tower he had to admit he had found a contender.

 _She's evil_ , he thought as he climbed a staircase to the seventh floor, _she's an evil, twisted, mad_ -

"Ron?"

He had reached the top of the stairs, turned right, and almost walked into Ron, who was lurking behind a statue of Lachlan the Lanky, clutching a small bottle in his hand. He saw a great leap of surprise when he saw Harry and attempted to hide the bottle behind his back.

"What are you doing?"

"Er- nothing. What are _you_ doing?"

Harry frowned at him.

"Come on, you can tell me! What are you hiding here for?"

"I'm- I'm hiding from Fred and George, if you must know," said Ron. "They just went past with a bunch of first years, I bet they're testing stuff on them again, I mean, they can't do it in the common room now, can they, not with Hermione there."

He was talking in a very fast, feverish way.

"But why do you have that bottle for?" Harry asked.

"Its… stole it from Fred's stash," Ron relented, looking remarkably guilty in that moment. "Listen, I…" Harry was startled when the bottle was shoved into his hands, in his surprise he grabbed it with his still bleeding hand. "Do me a favor and keep that away from me, okay?"

Harry blinked in complete bewilderment.

"Ron, what are you on about? What is it?"

"Its nothing bad, its just… well, okay, I'll tell you the truth, but don't freak. It's headache drought. Hermione's having a right fit about taking potions from home, you know? And it's not a big deal at all, but you know her."

Harry eyed Ron suspiciously, looking down at the bottle and back up.

"I do," he said slowly. He was the last person in the world to lecture Ron about going to Pomfrey for headaches, so he shrugged it off and placed the drought in his pocket.

"Why didn't you just ask Fred for it?"

Ron rolled his eyes.

"You can ask Fred, and Lee can ask Fred, and even little firsties can ask Fred, but we've never really had that sort of friendly relationship. If George had been the one holding it, I might have."

Ron shrugged.

"Then again, ever since I made Prefect they've been on a whole 'nother level. I can't really even walk into a room without them giving me the stink eye or the cold shoulder. Better to just take it. Not as if they haven't done the same thing to me a thousand times over."

Harry really couldn't argue with that.

"How long have you been…" Harry gestured at his head.

"Don't really know. I don't think I noticed it at fi- Harry, what's that on the back of your hand?"

Harry, who had scratched his nose with his free right hand, tried to hide it, but had as much success as Ron with his drought.

"It's just a cut- it's nothing- it's-"

But Ron had grabbed Harry's forearm and pulled the back of Harry's hand up level with his eyes. There was a pause, during which he stared at the words carved into the skin, then he released Harry, looking sick.

"I thought you said she was giving you lines?"

Harry hesitated, but after all, Ron had been honest with him, so he told Ron the truth about the hours he had been spending in Umbridge's office.

"The old hag!" Ron said in a revolted whisper as they came to a halt in front of the Fat Lady, who was dozing peacefully with her head against her frame. "She's sick! Go to McGonagall, say something!"

"No," said Harry at once. "I'm not giving her the satisfaction of knowing that she got to me."

"Got to you? You can't let her get away with this!"

"I don't know how much power McGonagall's got over her."

"Dumbledore then, tell Dumbledore!"

"No," Harry said flatly.

"Why not?"

"He's got enough on his mind."

That was not the true reason though. He was not going to go to Dumbledore for help when Dumbledore had not spoken to him once since June.

"Well, I reckon you should…" Ron began, but he was interrupted by the Fat Lady, who had been watching them sleepily and now burst out.

"Are you going to give me the password or will I have to stay awake all night waiting for you to finish your conversation?"

They exchanged glances and hurried inside. The common room was full of students. With a helpless shrug they agreed to talk about it later. Before Harry crawled into bed though, Ron tapped the drought now sitting on Harry's bedside.

"That's not just good for headaches. Take a little for your hand. We'll get something better for you tomorrow."

Harry's dream that night was of Ron kicking around a large pink toad, inflated in the form of a ball. The dark circles under his eyes that Harry noticed when he first arrived at 12 Grimmauld place were more pronounced, but Ron was moving about the field as if he weren't tired at all. Long limbs determinedly smashing the strange ball in its face as much as possible as he moved from one end to the other.

* * *

This Umbridge thing was getting out of hand. The woman was like a bogart that just would not go down no matter how many ridiculous spells were shouted out. She just popped back up in all her over glorified, pink glory.

And Harry… well Harry wasn't making anything easier. Losing his temper with every annoying little hum the pink beast let loose. Egging the bat out of hell on, tempting fate… well no, more like telling fate to fuck off. He was all for giving her what for, but all Harry was doing was vindicating everything she claimed about him by acting out.

His head hurt.

His head was always hurting nowadays. It wasn't the dull prevalent ache of stress though. He'd come to recognize that familiar thrum a long time ago. No, these were more like a low roaring. Touching with sharp razor like claws straight through his skull to the end of the back of his neck. It fluctuated, moving seamlessly from bearable to excruciating on a whim.

And why was it always so bloody hot in the dorms nowadays? Most nights it felt like he was boiling alive. He'd complained about it to Neville yesterday, but the shorter fifth year had given him an odd look, and when Ron had glanced at him while they were going to bed, Neville was putting on a robe to sleep in. A robe.

Barmy that one.

Ron flipped over, wiping at his sweaty face and stumbling over to the window, cracking it further open, letting a cool breeze in. Much better. He poured himself a glass of water, trying to soothe his sore throat and cool himself down.

Their fifth year was beginning to look like a nightmare. Between Seamus's anger towards them for his mother's stupidity to the school's disbelief of what happened at the end of the Triwizard tournament to the dementors escaping and all the shit fest surely to dog their steps in future days.

Why was it always them? Why couldn't someone else be fucked around and tossed about like bloody rag dolls for a bit? Why did Harry and Hermione have to be so cursed with curiosity and determined to weigh every ailment the world possessed on their shoulders? Couldn't just let things be.

He flopped back onto his bed, feeling the overly hot blanket beneath him irritating his skin. He backtracked, reprimanding himself for getting annoyed with Harry and Hermione. They didn't deserve that. He was cranky. Plain and simple. Even the pepper me up potion from Pomfrey hadn't rid him of the now three-day long headache and sleep was refusing his bed side like a wet dog refused a towel.

He needed to get his act together before he ended up snapping at the wrong person. Like Harry or Hermione. Harry was too wrung out to deal with his brattiness and Hermione had her panties in a bunch worrying about Harry. Worse yet, he could end up doing or saying something profoundly stupid to a professor with how his mood had been turning the last few weeks. The last thing he needed was a confrontation with Snape or Umbridge. He did not want to end up in the same hopeless boat as Harry. No thank you sir. His metaphorical boat had a hole in it. No need to throw away the paddle and drop an anchor in it.

Something hit his eye.

Oh, Merlin, was that sunlight?

No, no, it wasn't. Couldn't be.

He rolled over, spying the windows eye staring back at him, a dull red and gold peeking out. No twinkling spots of light or dark horizons. No moon. Bloody hell, those colors was the beginning of sunlight!

He rolled over again, dragging the pillow over his head. A head full of cotton lit aflame. There was no way in McGonagall's prim prissy hat that it was _that_ late already. He wasn't ready for it to be that late. It wasn't true. It was fucking night and if the sun didn't like it, then it could go…

Neville's alarm went off.

…fuck off.

Ron cringed.

Damn it.

* * *

Ron was joining her more often in the library. Hermione tried not to stare. She tried not to make it seem like a big deal. She tried very hard not to question him or show suspicion. It practically drove her mad to stop herself from asking. But she resisted.

'Cause Ron was the sort to get skittish and defensive if the answer was something sensitive. If he was avoiding his siblings or wanted to spend more time with Hermione or was failing a subject and was trying to subtly bring up his grade then Hermione asking would bring up those insufferable walls of his.

Walls which Hermione had never really understood why exactly they existed to begin with. The insecurity and lack of confidence wasn't like Neville's shyness. For someone who didn't think much of themselves, Ron demonstrated boldness and initiative and straightforward _need_ to be heard. A _need_ to prove himself. Hermione understood Ron felt as if he was insignificant compared to his siblings… insignificant even when compared to his bed friends, but she didn't understand _why._

Trying to tell him otherwise was useless.

So here she was, debating the merits of questioning why Ron was suddenly showing up in the library to _read_ and _do homework_ without accidentally triggering something she didn't understand because Ron never explained the way he viewed things. Hermione questioned everything, it was a quirk of hers, but on this occasion, she knew questioning was not the best course of action.

The first time it had happened, Ron had his homework tucked under his arm, looking around the library wearily, as if the books were prone to snapping at him. It had amused Hermione enough that she'd just accepted his company without a word. Ron had grinned at her, making her knees feel weak, and they'd absolutely melted when he sat close enough that said knees touched.

The second time, she eyed him the whole time, squinting suspiciously until Ron relented and told her that the twins were hunting him down for testing products. She'd accepted the excuse, happily urging Ron to do 'one more' homework assignment.

They chatted, at the expense of her assignments, but it was worth it. It wasn't just Ron and Harry who were best friends or she and Harry, despite what many people seemed to think, when they weren't arguing they had quite a lot to talk about.

Ron told her a funny story about his father trying to transfigure a microwave to work with magic, only instead of heating the food, it caused it to mutate. Then the magical mutations formed a rebellion with the garden gnomes and caused havoc to the garden vegetables. Molly Weasley had not been amused.

Hermione, in turn, told her about her first bout of accidental magic. How she'd been in her parent's dentist office thinking of how much she wanted Rebecka Sorten, the secretary, to stop tapping her foot when suddenly the woman's toes became glued to the floor.

Ron had laughed; booming and obnoxious and adorable. Shushing him only when Madam Pince sent them a disapproval glare, raising her far too thin eyebrows at Hermione in disappointment. Hermione had given the woman a sheepish wave, promising to keep their voices down. It wasn't long before Ron was nudging her shoulder with his elbow, urging her to tell him what happened next, how long it took for the woman to get her foot unstuck.

The third time, Hermione had the inkling that Ron was avoiding something. She refrained once more from saying anything, enjoying her time alone with Ron. She told him about an Aunt that lived in Germany who had a fondness for beer. The woman had come to visit them when Hermione was six or seven, the details were fuzzy, but one thing she remembered was the chocolate vodka drink she'd thought was chocolate milk. How she'd taken two large gulps of it when her Aunt wasn't looking, only to feel the burn going down, the taste making her gag.

The half-choked snickering earned them another scolding from their ever present librarian, but the way Ron practically bounced in his seat, trying to stay still and failing, was worth it. The way he flipped through pages, stealing glances at her when he thought she wasn't looking was more worth it. The way let pulled his leg up so that his overly long legged knee touched her thigh was worth ten reproaches.

Of course, the fourth time he came, it was with a heavy slouch. Exhausted shoulders and with a hint of sleeplessness beneath his eyes. He gave her a wobbly smile. This time it took him longer to do the assignments. Hermione helped where she could, seeing him struggling. When she thought it was safe, when he had his guard down, she asked in her gentlest voice.

"Are you alright?"

Ron shrugged.

"Rough night?" She tried again.

Ron's foot tapped, unnoticed, against one of the leg's chairs. His quill tapping the same spot until a small hole appeared, marked by an ink stain. Then Ron sighed, pushed it away and rubbed his face.

"It's fine. Just feeling a little run down lately."

Then he went back to his paper, staring at it in agitation.

Hermione knew that look. The frustration he was feeling would need an outlet and whatever was going on with him, she would rather not be that outlet. So she scooted her chair closer and pointed out a quote from the book that would help get his point across in the paper they were working on.

Still, each time Ron showed up, he looked a little worse for wear. A little more tired. It was starting to show in the classroom too. She was hard pressed to mention it though, instead keeping a closer eye on him. Keeping him close in their study sessions.

That was how she noticed something more disturbing one night at dinner.

Hermione was in tune with her boys' habits. One good thing about having two male best friends was that they were very straight forward individuals. They didn't talk about Hermione behind her back, good or bad, but rather, they lived in the moment. When they were angry, they showed it. When they were sad, they showed it. When they were happy, they showed it. It was out there for everyone to know.

Ron's ears turned red when he was embarrassed or angry. Harry clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. Ron practically floated when he was satisfied or happy, as if gravity itself couldn't drag him down. Harry had a light in his eyes that sparkled and gleamed, but rarely reached his lips. Ron was snarky. Harry was sassy.

One habit that was new to her though, was Ron pushing food around on his plate. It had always been a problem with Harry when their best friend was stressed, but Ron was a stress eater. When tests were too much or when they got in an argument or when something bad happened, Ron tended to grab an extra roll or snatch up another cup of pumpkin juice.

It kept him busy. His hands. His mouth. His body. It made him feel better. It wasn't healthy, of course, far from it, which was why Hermione lectured him so much about things like that and yelled at him when he started eating a little too much. It was her way of watching out for him when no one else would.

Yet there he was.

Pushing food around.

He'd take a bite every once in a while, at least. That made her feel better. It didn't seem as if Ron was outright avoiding eating, but rather, like he was too tired to think about eating. Ron was staring at his food in almost boredom. When he would eat, he looked like he was swallowing coal.

It's when the full plate dwindled down to a half plate that she became panicky though. Three weeks into this… whatever it was that was upsetting him was now starting to show. Hermione leaned across the table, placing her hand against his forehead.

"Are you feeling alright?" Hermione asked again, but this time her voice was firm, no nonsense. The forehead against her palm didn't feel hot. It felt normal. No fever. She let her fingers trail his cheek until they fell under his chin.

Ron swatted her fingers away, a touch of annoyance in his features.

"Fine."

"You barely ate anything," Hermione pointed out.

"So what?" Ron snapped. Glittering blue orbs directing all of its ire at her. "I don't always fill up my plate."

She held firm.

"You haven't been sleeping well either."

"Stop nagging."

She tried to still the hurt. Tried to remind herself that Ron wasn't feeling good. It kept her voice from turning sharp.

"I think you should go see Madam Pomphrey."

"I already told her about my sleeping problems. She gave me a sleeping draught."

"Did it work?" Hermione prompted, trying to prove a point.

"For that night."

"Then you should let her do a checkup. It might be something worse," Hermione urged.

"I don't have a cold or anything," Ron said mulishly. "I've just been having these headaches recently. The headaches make it hard to sleep. The lack of sleep makes me feel run down. Feeling run down makes everything seem worse. It's happened a million times before, I just have to break the cycle or last through the headaches and it will go away."

"Why don't you get some headache potions then?" Hermione asked, curious and worried.

"I've still got some from the Burrow," Ron dismissed. "I've been taking that."

"You brought headache potion from home?" Hermione asked, the summer three months gone. The idea that Ron had taken it with him meant that he must have been suffering from headaches during the summer as well. Not only that, but students weren't allowed to have any sort of medicine at all. It was supposed to be kept strictly by Madam Pomphrey. Even Headache potion in large amounts could turn dangerous, especially if the potion was out of date, which… considering the Weasley's circumstances…

Hermione started to get a sick feeling in her stomach.

"Ron, can I see these potions? How much have you been taking a day?" She asked.

Worse yet, if Madam Pomphrey wasn't aware that Ron was taking the potion, and she prescribed the sleeping drought, there was a chance that the two could mix badly in his stomach. Potions, after all, were nothing like muggle medicine. A simple headache potion was not the same as taking an Advil.

Seemingly reading her mind, Ron spoke.

"I haven't overdosed. It's not expired. I'm not an idiot. I didn't take the headache potion anytime near the sleeping drought."

"I never said you were an idiot," Hermione sighed in exasperation. "I'm just saying that things could happen."

"And it would be best if the great Miss. Granger looked over it all to ensure I didn't fuck up."

"Ron!"

"I'm going to go take a nap," Ron said, holding his hands up in surrender. "If I'm not up to par in a week, then you can drag me wherever you want."

Hermione glowered, but knowing it was the best deal she was going to get, nodded in resignation. She grabbed two rolls from the table and shoved them into his hand.

"At least eat these, to keep up your strength."

Ron took them, giving her a half-hearted smile and a joking salute.

"Yes mam."

But Ron shoved them into his cloak rather than munching on them when he left and she had the sinking feeling that they would end up in the trash rather than consumed. She stared at his retreating back left the Great Hall altogether.


	3. Chapter 2: Together

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry potter

* * *

Chapter 2: Together

Hermione blinked. Then blinked again. There was something up with Ron. He'd just been… sitting there. Quietly. Well, a small dry cough interrupted him every few minutes, but he wasn't even fidgeting. Just doing his homework. Not a peep of complaint nor a joke to lighten the mood. She hadn't noticed it while she was doing her work, but now that she was finished the quiet bothered her.

The quill found its way to her lips as she stared. Ron was staring at the paper with an oddly blank look on his face. Normally he wore boredom during these hours of forced work, but rather than impatience and irritation there was just complete incomprehension.

"Ron," she called out softly.

He blinked slowly, turning tired eyes towards her, a half lidded, closed off look that made her feel weary. He tilted his head forward, indicating she had his attention.

"You alright?" He blinked harder, straightening up, his eyebrows raising up at her. "I mean…" she stumbled, gesturing to him as if that answered what she meant. She bit her lip. "You've been a bit out of it lately. At 12 Grimmauld Place too. Like you're thinking too hard about something."

Ron put down his own quill, a lopsided grin falling into place.

"'Mione Granger accusing _me_ of thinking too hard?" Ron whistled loudly. She cringed as Madam Pince shushed them. He just grinned at her though, completely disregarding the librarian as if she meant nothing. Hermione huffed before soundlessly closing her books, minding their location in the library, giving Ron a pointed look.

He just winked at her. Pretending to scream and shout before putting his hand to his ear as if listening for Pince. The woman never looked up. Ron gave a roll of his eyes before turning to Hermione to gesture at the oblivious witch. He mimicked the place burning down and the stern-faced woman continuing to put books away as if nothing was wrong. Hermione gave him an unamused look, packing up her books she ignored his eyes as they followed her.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning then," she announced primly.

"Ah… not even a lick o' help for…" Ron looked down at his paper. "Various Varieties of Venom Antidotes?"

"Not even a smidgen."

"'Bet you'd help if I was Harry," he called, earning a smirk from her.

"Of course, he's the chosen one," she mocked.

They both knew the chosen one would be just as screwed as Ron in regards to homework 'help.' Harry should be getting out of Umbridge's soon though. Her footsteps stilled. She looked back to see Ron's face had also fallen. They should probably…

Ron was packing up. Their eyes met and she grimaced. Yeah, they needed to be there when Harry got out. Without a word they moved to go to Gryffindor tower to wait for their missing friend.

* * *

Harry jerked awake like clockwork. The face of Cedric Diggory planted itself firmly in his mind. He didn't need to look to know it was nearing two o clock, possibly three. Neither did he want to. He felt sticky as he shoved the covers away. Swiped a wet hair out of his way. The faintest memory of red eyes surging forward to assault his woken state just as it had his sleeping.

He shuddered as he stood, legs melting under him, but managing a steady step after a few choice words were shared between them and himself. His mind already betrayed him on more than one occasion, he did not need his body to follow suite. One of them had to work.

His footsteps were light atop the carpet, but Harry doubted if any of the boys were stir anyways. Neville and Dean had long since learned a charm to clock out noise. Seamus slept like the dead. Ron's snores and Harry's nightmares didn't stand a chance against the young Irish boy when it came to his sleep. Or his bullheadedness.

Passing said boy's bed he felt a little vindicated to see pages upon pages of crossed out sentences for their Dark Arts forty-two inch essay. Defense against the dark arts had never been Seamus best subject. With Umbridge cutting out any form of practical magical application (field work), left a great deal of essay writing and research instead. Much to Umbridge's chagrin, he, Ron and Hermione were some of the few passing without fail, all the assignments. Due mainly to Harry himself.

He wandered down pitch black steps, stumbling only until he remembered his wand in the back pocket of his sweats. Light filtered through the hall, aided by the glow of the fireplace down below. But the comforting fire did not greet him alone.

"Alright, Harry?"

"What are you doing up?" Harry asked, equal parts baffled and relieved. Rather than answer, Ron turned away from him to stare into the fire, one hand gesturing for Harry to join him. The hand migrated to his forehead, rubbing in slow, hard circles.

Harry did so, his knees bumping against the longer, lankier frame of his best friend. He glanced sideways at Ron to see sweat sliding down his face, despite how cold the room was, and Harry suspected that maybe Ron had been sitting too close to the fire.

"Can't sleep," Ron finally said after a few minutes.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Can't sleep like I can't sleep or…"

"Just a headache and its hotter than sin lately, feel like my blankets are burning me alive."

Harry hummed, fingerings going up to his own burning scar. The familiar jagged lightning strike scar tissue warm beneath his fingers.

"I can relate."

Ron bumped his shoulder, smiling a little. They sat in comfortable silence for a while longer, eventually pulling out cards, regular muggle ones, as neither felt compelled to worsen the pounding behind their skulls with exploding snaps. They played until the sun came up, guiltily slinking upstairs to bed, not so guiltily ignoring Hermione when she demanded they get their lazy bums up.

* * *

Harry's blood is boiling. He wants to turn around, march up the stairs to Umbridge, and punch her in the face. His hand throbs and every fiber in his being wants to rebel against the words she made him write, wants to reach out and ring her stupid, short barely there neck.

Harry almost turns around, but a foot stops him. Specifically, Ron's foot. The ragged shoe and ankle showing giving the other boy away even though most of it is invisible. Harry catches himself and blinks down at the familiar foot for too long.

"Is that my cloak?" Harry asks, his anger is leaking out and he's not sure if he should be annoyed or amused when the body jerks and Ron' head appears.

"Shit, damn it, yes, yes it is, sorry. Fell asleep, I think," Ron's muttering, sitting up and pulling the cloak completely off of him, until only the arms holding the cloak are invisible to the eye. "Hi, Harry."

Harry choses to be amused.

"What are you doing?"

"Waiting up for you, course," Ron slurs, trying to fight a yawn and the sleep still dragging his actions. "Got murtlap." Ron pulled out a bowl, magicked to keep the liquid inside. "Figured we'd go to the kitchens, get you a cup of tea, soak your hand…" Ron shrugged. "Seamus is still up, figured you'd want to avoid him?"

"Yeah, sounds good," Harry agreed.

As they walked, Ron was doing that odd thing again, touching the back of his head. Tracing it in a messaging manner to the front where his fingers reversed the action. It was a new habit. One he'd developed during the summer, apparently, and that had become increasingly prevalent since.

"You doing okay?" Harry asked, feeling worry pricking at the back of his mind.

Ron nodded absently, fingers moving from his head to the pear, tickling it gently until the large painting swung open. Tea appeared practically before the house elves did, though there was no sign of Dobby tonight. Perhaps Dumbledore had the little elf on some mission or he may even have been attending to Winky. He let his hand rest in the murtlap, the cool liquid doing wonders for his throbbing hand, as they drank tea.

"I was thinking," Ron said casually, "I bet if we were to go to Umbridge's office right now, she would already have headed to bed."

Harry eyed him.

"Yeah?"

"We probably can't get into the office, of course, but there's an awful lot of hallway between her sleeping quarters and her office." Ron took a large, obnoxious slurp from his tea, winking at Harry as he did so. "A lot of space that has been prohibited to students from entering less her beauty sleep be interrupted. And, somehow, miraculously, I happen to have a bag full of Fred and George's inventions with me, enchanted with notice-me-not charms."

"It would be a shame to waste those," Harry agreed.

Ron nodded sagely.

"Especially since their set to go off every few hours for the next three days. Terribly inconvenient for them to be put anywhere else."

"Really?" Harry asked, impressed.

"Fred and George were eager to help, they always are, where you're concerned," Ron grinned, shaking the bag beside him. If there was a slightly bitter tone to his voice, Harry ignored it in favor of finishing off his tea and shaking the murtlap from his hand.

By morning the whole of Hogwarts knew the woes of Umbridge.

Decree #27: Any students found outside their dorms after hours will be expelled.

Decree #28: All noise making objects will be turned in post haste to the high inquisitor for disposal upon threat of punishment.

* * *

Ron's clothes were always an inch or two too short, too wide, too thin, clothes stretching across a frame or hanging on one, but never fitting right. When Ron dressed, Harry avoided looking at him, because it embarrassed Ron. The redhead hated it when anyone in the room looked at him when he struggled with one article or another, trying to get broken buttons to work or pants one size too small to fit somewhat right. There were shirts that sometimes left his mid-rift showing and Ron would fumble to throw his robes on over them.

It was just one of those things they didn't mention because once upon a time they had.

Sometime before they learned it was a taboo subject with the Weasley siblings, they'd each offered a shirt or an item of clothing to Ron, who'd turned a brilliant shade of red and refused. At first politely, but then harshly with each person. Until poor Neville nearly had his head snapped off and no one had offered again.

Still, it bothered Harry that he hadn't noticed the purple before. Where Ron's socks were a little too tight, there were purple bruises. Where the cuffs cut a little, there was a darkening of his skin that was unnatural. The place where pants met hips was overrun with small bruises. Ron's shoulders too, had smatterings of little discolorations.

It alarmed him to the point that he dropped his broom. The clatter causing Dean and Seamus to look over, their eyes falling first on Harry's gob smacked expression before following it to Ron.

"Shite! What is that?" Seamus blanched.

Ron jerked his shirt over his head, glaring at Seamus as he shuffled to pull his robes on as well, hiding the last of the bruises from view.

"Fall down the stairs or something?" Dean asked casually, shooting Seamus a look.

"Fall down a dozen stairs, you mean," Seamus muttered.

Harry was still stuck there, stumbling to pick his broom up while not looking at Ron. Ron who was shrugging and grabbing his stuff, ignoring them with all the force of a pissed off hippogriff.

"Leave it."

"You got yourself a bully or something? Malfoy and his goons gang up on you?" Seamus snapped, working himself into a fury. "Who the hell did that?"

"No one!" Ron snapped. "Nobody's done anything."

"That skin color don't come naturally, no matter where you're from," Seamus pointed out with a snort. At Ron's continued scowl, Seamus waved his hand in annoyance. "Whatever, I ain't your soddin' mum. You need help, you ask for it."

With that Seamus was out of the room. Dean followed Seamus with his eyes, frowning before picking up his textbooks for the study of Magical Creatures with Hagrid. Dean hesitated a moment longer before turning to Ron.

"Same here, you know. All you have to do is talk to us and we'll be there for you."

Then Dean followed after his best friend. Once alone, Harry moved across the room, grabbing Ron's shoulder and forcing him to look him in the eye.

"Nobody did it, did they?" Harry asked.

Ron glanced at Harry, deflating in anger, feet shuffling around.

"No."

Harry shifted from foot to foot as well, feeling the anxious energy radiating off of his friend.

"I know you don't want me to," Harry said slowly, knowing he was crossing a line, "but please let me buy you some clothes."

An awkward, tense silence followed.

"It's fine," Ron eventually said. "It's not that bad."

He willed down the urge to shake his friend.

"A few shirts, a few pants, nothing more," Harry bargained, knowing he was on dangerous grounds here and beyond the point of caring. It was no coincidence that the bruises were along the tightest part of Ron's clothes. "Let me help you."

Ron tore his arm away. The redhead shook his head, his mouth opening and closing shut, no words emitting from him. Then, tugging in frustration at the too short sleeve, he marched out of the room, following Seamus and Dean out of the dorms. Harry glared at the room around him as if it would magic up the solution. When it did no such thing, Harry sighed, stared at Ron's open drawer, half empty, half full of hand me downs, he grabbed his bag and left himself.

* * *

They were all staring at Harry. Which wasn't entirely new, not by a long shot. The edge of weariness, of looks cold and uncomprehending, tended to fall upon him every other year. This time though, it was tinged with pity so thick Harry thought he'd choke on it before the year was up. If the disbelief and disgust of Daily Prophet readers didn't do him in first.

"Mate, you gotta eat something," Ron's voice poked through.

Harry Potter glanced in Ron's direction, eyes casting downwards to his barely touched food. He pushed it away before standing up. Immediately to shadows following. Harry sighed. Stopped. Glanced back. Ron and Hermione had left their own food to stand beside him, eyes boring into him with such concern it both warmed and annoyed him.

"I want to be alone for a bit," Harry muttered.

"Really, Harry, really?" Hermione tutted, her tone conveying her disapproval far beyond her words. The bushy haired Gryffindor grabbed her bag, shoveling two large books into the seemingly tiny compartment, before definitively zipping it shut. Ron said nothing, grabbing three apples, biting into one, and pocketing the other two, before joining them.

He felt his mouth twitch, but it refused to move upwards into a full-blown smile. He could still hear the mutterings after all. Still see the pictures in the Daily Prophet proclaiming his 'lies' to the world.

They marched out of the Great Hall and headed up to the tower, but when Ron entered through the portrait of the fat lady first he suddenly turned and closed it shut again.

"Er…" Ron muttered, glancing back at a miffed, large woman glaring at him from her portrait. "Sorry, we're actually going…" Ron's eyes went blank, the blue orbs glancing pleadingly at Hermione for help.

"To Hagrid's," Hermione finished.

Ron nodded, looking entirely too grateful. Harry just shrugged, not wanting to know what had caused Ron to change their course so suddenly. He just appreciated that whatever it was, Ron had stopped him from seeing it. He moped behind the two, dragging his feet. They didn't seem to notice.

For the first time in forever he felt as if his year at Hogwarts would be just as bad as living with the Dursley's. He couldn't sleep, couldn't think, without Cedric's dead eyes boring into his nightmares.

Something soft touched his hand. He blinked, looking down to find two large hands pushing apples into his own smaller ones. Harry met Ron's eyes, the redhead shrugged, pleading with him.

"Throat hurts for some reason, can't eat them, be a shame to waste perfectly good food, mate," Ron winked. Harry took them, throwing Ron an exasperated look. "Plus when Hagrid offers his cakes you can just pull those out and claim you've got enough."

That… was a very good point.

When they made it to the hut though, no answer came.

"It looks like he's still not back," Hermione mumbled. The windows were still locked up tight. The door far more foreboding than any other gathering here they'd ever experienced.

Harry felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. One he was sure both Ron and Hermione shared. This year… was not going to be kind to them.

"Why don't we head over to the lake?" Ron prompted.

Hermione nodded. Steering them away from the lonely hut to Hogwart's expansive grounds. She walked beside Harry, head pointedly staring away from a large group of Hufflepuff's shuffling by. Ron's lanky frame covertly stayed positioned between himself and them. Warmth bubbled up once more.

But at least he had them.

* * *

Weary and guarded, she and Ron sat down in the most unprofessional and tacky office Hermione had ever bore witness too. She shared a glance with Ron whose eyebrows had disappeared behind his bangs, an incredulous look about his person as he stared at the cat infested walls.

"As High Inquisitor I am reviewing the choices made by Headmaster Dumbledore of Prefects for the school year in order to better evaluate the education system," Umbridge said softly. "I expect your full cooperation in this matter."

Hermione resisted the urge to glance at Ron.

"What would you like to know?" she asked, keeping her voice carefully blank.

Umbridge grinned at them, giving the impression of a giant toad in the midst of croaking, throat bulging out in excitement.

"Oh, just a few questions, I assure you." The High Inquisitor flipped open a set of files, clearing her throat in that unnecessarily loud manner of hers. "Why do you believe you were given the honor of Prefect?"

She shared a look with Ron, feeling as if this was a trap, she opened her mouth to answer when Ron beat her to it.

"Hermione is the brightest witch of her age," Ron told Umbridge in a sharp tone. "She knows every rule by heart and genuinely wants to help people. She does all of her homework and every assignment well before its due and more than what the Professors ask of her. There's no one who deserves it more than Hermione Granger."

She sat stunned in her seat for a moment. She rarely blushed but now it felt as if her face was on fire. She could _not_ look at Ron.

"I believe that I asked you why you believe you made Prefect, Mr. Weasley, not why she did," Umbridge simpered.

"It's quite obvious, isn't it?" Hermione demanded before she could stop herself. "Ronald exemplifies our houses core values; courage, chivalry, and determination. He never hesitates to defend those who cannot defend themselves and always stands up for what he believes is right."

' _Whether or not it is or not,'_ Hermione added silently, amused.

"I believe I can see the defiance so heavily ingrained in your friend, Mr. Potter, spreading like a filthy disease into the entire house," Umbridge announced, looking just about ready to devour them whole. Hermione didn't dare glance at Ron. She knew him well enough to know he would be seething at the slight at Harry. She could only hope Ron kept his temper at bay for this meeting.

Umbridge continued.

"I am here because the teachers and Headmaster of this school have failed to operate in a safe and efficient manner in concerns to the education of the children of Britain. As representatives of your classmates I would like to know what your observations of these events has been."

"Can you be a little more specific?" Ron asked.

Hermione nudged him in the ribs; ' _don't go too far, Ron.'_

Umbridge wrote a note on her papers, a set of dimples revealing themselves as she seemed to settle in. Ron looked unrepentant, but didn't say anything else.

"How do you feel about the lack of stability in your defense against the dark arts class?"

"Our education in DADA has been scattered," Hermione relented, because truly, there was no means to defend the continued changes in the position. "And I'm sure that you've encountered students demonstrating a wide variety of levels in the art. However, the circumstances of these changes are hardly the fault of Dumbledore or the teachers at this school. Every other position has been successfully filled by teachers who are experts in their field and to point fingers at the single position as an example for the failings of a whole school is not only ludicrous, but unreasonable."

"It has not just been the DADA position though, has it?" Umbridge laughed and the sound came out high pitched, as if echoing down an expansive empty hall. "There has been considerable trouble with the Care of Magical Creatures class, hasn't there? Students injured or traumatized. I fully plan on investigating each and every class."

"No one has ever been traumatized in Care of Magical Creatures," Ron lied smoothly. "And the only injury sustained in that class was from a student blatantly disregarding the multiple warnings from the Professor."

"Is that so? The information I attained was from a Prefect from another house coming from a very respectable family. Fully backed, I might add, from a number of trustworthy students."

Hermione gestured for Ron to keep his mouth shut, but Ron was on a row, leaning forward with an almost predatory edge to him, not in the least intimidated by the pink toad in front of them.

"I suppose that our definitions on what is respectable and trustworthy must differ then, because in order to have those qualities, you first have to have a spine."

"Twenty points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley, for terrible manners and insulting fellow students."

"If you wanted us to lie for your questions all you had to do was ask, Professor," Ron ground out through grit teeth, his voice taking on a high pitch imitation of Umbridge herself. "The Malfoys are wonderful people who are not at all secret Death Eaters waiting to slaughter Muggleborns on a moments notice."

"Enough! Twenty points from Gryffindor and detention with me this weekend, Mr. Weasley!"

There was a tense moment where Hermione was worried Ron was going to throw himself over the desk and try to fit his hands around the nearly none existent neck, but he settled in his chair, eyes glittering with rage. She clutched at his hand, urging him to keep his mouth shut.

For the remainder of the questions, Hermione took control. Answering all the questions in as diplomatic of a manner as possible while still defending Hogwarts. They would not make Gryffindor lose all chances of the house cup right at the start of the year. When it seemed that Umbridge had exhausted all of the questions she wanted to ask, her attention turned once more to the more personal items on her list.

"At the start of this, I asked you why you had been chosen to watch over your fellow housemates, revealing your thoughts on the position and your place in it." Umbridge gestured to the files on her desk. "Each Prefect is chosen by the Headmaster and the Head of House and the notes are considered classified, but as I am the Head Inquisitor, I have every right to peruse the documents along with your personal files."

She flipped open the pages and from Hermione's spot she could see a picture of Ron from last year in his school robes. He had one hand in his pocket, though Hermione knew that both hands were expected to be held in front of a person for school pictures. His other hand lay casually at his side and there was a half-smile on his face, teeth showing as he looked in the direction of Colin's camera. His tie was slightly loose and his coat was unbuttoned, but Ron didn't seem bothered at all by the lack of proper uniform protocol.

Feeling exasperated, there was a part of her that preferred Ron's disorganized apparel. It fit his personality. Everything was there, in its proper place, but with a touch of disorder and chaos. He wore his tie, his coat, his white colored shirt tucked in, yet it was all wrong. He was walking the line between rule breaker and rule follower. Constantly straying from one side to the other carelessly and with an ease that Hermione sometimes envied. Ron wasn't trying to be a good student or a bad student, just himself.

"Now, it does come to my attention that Mr. Weasley's scores are only marginally better than his dorm mates Mr. Finnigan, Mr. Thomas, and Mr. Longbottom and though Mr. Potter's scores are slightly better, it seems that Mr. Weasley has been in less trouble than Mr. Potter," Umbridge said casually, flipping through Ron's pages as if they were truly fascinating. "So it seems to me that you were chosen simply because you were not _as_ dismal as your male counterparts."

Hermione bristled as Ron's face burned scarlet and the tall red head slumped into his seat. Umbridge beamed at them, as if she hadn't just insulted the entirety of the fifth year male Gryffindors. She tapped the paper in front of her.

"There's also a note here written by Professor McGonagall about balance. She seems to be under the impression that Miss. Granger here wouldn't be able to control herself in erecting a tyranny of strict rule," here Umbridge's lips quirked in amusement. Hermione felt the pit of her stomach drop out at the suggestion that her hero thought of her as a tyrant.

"McGonagall would never write that," Ron snapped, "and if you think either of us would believe such bull…"

Hermione stamped down on Ron's foot. He yelped, sending a vexed look her way, but remaining silent. Glowering in his seat like an encroaching storm.

"I can only assume that you have both been negatively affected by the violent nature of your peer, Mr. Potter," Umbridge noted, her voice laced with disappointment. "I am rectifying that, of course, with detentions for him, but I think the solution for you two isn't quite so simple."

"Solution?" Hermione felt herself shaking in rage, reigning in her fury to a clipped coldness.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley's outburst only proves that you both are not up to par with the Prefects from the other houses, as High Inquisitor it is my job, my responsibility, to ensure that this is seen to."

"How noble of you," Ron spat.

"Quite," Umbridge said sweetly. She pulled out two books, both with the same title scrawled in immaculate gold across the blue cover; 'Ministry of Magic Code of Morals and Management.' "Each Weekend you will be assigned a paper to write on a topic I have chosen for you. Two feet each, due by Sunday Evening on my desk, failure to meet these requirements will end in a fifty-point reduction for your house."

"That's absurd!" Ron roared, getting to his feet.

Hermione grasped at his arm, tugging at him to sit down, though her own mind had blanked in her own anger. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but found her throat clamping up in sheer shock of what was happening.

"And for you, Mr. Weasley, I think three feet would be appropriate."

Umbridge was watching them, brimming with satisfaction. Hermione could feel shaking under her fingers, but whether it was Ron or herself or both she couldn't be sure. This was their O.W.L.S year and another paper on top of all the other work they were dealing with would bury them. Ron especially.

"Six inches of room should be maintained between male and female students," Umbridge stated primly, eyeing the way Hermione clutched Ron's arm in distaste. She broke away from Ron, giving the Professor a stern look herself.

"Ronald and I are best friends," she said sharply. "Are you suggesting something more illicit, Professor?"

"I am stating the inappropriateness of physical contact between students, Miss. Granger, and it is becoming apparent what sort of lack of control you yourself possess. I think you too would benefit from three feet. The themes this week are temper and tyranny. I don't have to tell you who is who, do I?"

Hermione's mouth clamped up.

After being dismissed, both she and Ron left the office in a hurry before coming to a halt several corridors down in shock. She watched Ron pace up and down the length of their chosen reprieve, cursing and gesturing like a wild animal before finally coming to a stop, leaning against the wall as if it was all the support he had in the world. Feeling spiteful and rebellious and for once feeling every foul word Ron spoke was well deserved, she leaned against him, their arms touching as they stood side by side.

Ron's fingers clamped around her wrist, squeezing gently. When she looked up she saw all the rage and stubborn defiance inside of her reflected in his eyes. And a clear decision that they would face this together.

"We can't tell Harry," Ron whispered, "it would… he's already so upset."

It would mean lying to him… again.

She gave a sharp nod in agreement before she could talk herself out of it.


	4. Chapter 3 Denial

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

Chapter 3: Denial

' _That could have gone better.'_

Hermione had gone to such trouble to get the Murtlap for Harry too. At least he fixed the bowl. Ron shared a glance with her as they headed up to bed. He shrugged, mouthing _'could have been worse'_ at her before following Harry up the stairs to the boy's dormitory.

This was a good idea though. Getting Harry to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts would not only help them learn to defend themselves, but bring them together. The tense atmosphere that had enveloped Hogwarts since the start of term was not her home. Better still, by doing this perhaps Harry would not have all this pent up frustration and anger boiling inside of him. It would be a release.

Harry would need time to come to his senses. Ron had always been more willing to talk about these things. With Harry it was like pulling teeth. Ron argue and discussed. Harry brooded before blowing up or taking action. He'd blown up at them, now all there was would be action.

Of course, she would have to take action first.

A place for classwork Umbridge couldn't find. A means to ensure no one spoke of it. There was a book in the library on magical contracts. It would be best to check I out in the morning. She'd always been curious about it anyways. There just had been so many more interesting topics to browse in the library and she'd put it on her list for seventh year since that would be just before she left for whatever career she settled on and contracts would probably be needed in some form or another…

Hermione braided her hair, trying to ensure it would be at its best when she needed to brush it in the morning. She would ask Ron about contracts before breakfast. He was always surprising when it came to knowledge. Half the time he didn't know a lick about a subject she had assumed he knew about and the other half of the time he knew more about subjects than she did in an area that she never would have suspected.

Ron was what she considered an obsessive intellectual, though she would _never_ admit to it out loud. He didn't care about the academic curriculum, which honestly drove her mad at times, but if something piqued his interest even in the smallest manner, he obsessively took in everything about it. She'd once discovered that he knew everything and anything there was to do with wizarding folklore and fiction.

Upon discovering this, she'd browsed the fiction shelves of Flourish and Blotts, for anything she thought Ron might like. She rarely partook in leisure reading, as she'd begun to refer to it the last few years. There were far too many useful things to learn in her nonfiction books to spend time in the pages of imaginary worlds with inaccurate facts.

By the end of her visit she'd picked out three good ones. A mute wizard possessed by Rowena Ravenclaw, having to work together with a deaf Minister of Magic and a blind seer to defeat a series of dark wizards called ' _Words Fail Me_.' Another good one she'd found was ' _Wayward Son_ ' telling the story of a young wizard developing frightening abilities and accidentally killing his best friend with them. Hermione had paused, thought better on it, and placed that book back. The final book though was safe enough, a man obsessed with Quidditch makes a deal with a demon for fame, but ends up giving up something even more important. This last one would really pull at Ron what with its theme. She'd glanced at the title at checkout: ' _Damn Tornados_.'

She hadn't given him both at once. That was planning to fail rather than failing to plan. Instead she got Harry to put the Quidditch one on Ron's bedside. Harry had given her a look, but she dismissed his exasperation and instead waited anxiously for any signs that the bait had been taken.

There were no signs at all.

She waited a week. A month. Then as the hope died and the second book remained in her own trunk, she muttered darkly for a few days and slowly forgot about it. It wasn't until sixth months later, over the summer holidays between third and fourth year, that she found the book, spine broken and pages leafed and marked by oiled fingers tucked under Ron's bed.

The sly arse.

She'd found his literary niche.

It became a sort of game for her. One that neither of them ever mentioned out loud to anyone; not even each other. She would slip a book somewhere that only Ron would find it and it would disappear. She never once caught Ron reading any of the books. No one caught Ron reading these books. She knew he did though, because soon after the book was delivered, it would arrive abused and ruffled and a little broken under the bed.

Then he moved to a special expanded box with so many locks and charms on it that even Hermione could not break the stupid thing. She was overwhelmed by exasperation and amusement. To go this far so no one would know he liked _books_. He was absolutely infuriating. Not even useful books.

She wondered where he went to read.

It was probably some place open yet secluded, maybe one of the towers…

She shook her head to rid herself of such thoughts. Finding Ron's secret nook was not her priority right now. Being ready for what was coming was. They would need to be able to communicate without it appearing like they were. Oh, this was exciting, wasn't it? Like they were secret society.

A secret society for the defense of wizarding kind against the forces of oppression and magic. There was an acronym in there somewhere. She only hoped it was more successful, more popular than S.P.E.W. The thought caused her shoulders to slump as she crawled under the covers. Well, _this_ involved people and people's problems, so it probably would be. No one wanted to deal with the problems of those they saw as inferior, only with the problems they themselves had after all…

She thought of third year, when she'd been too busy to put her full attention on the research for Buckbeak and Ron had stepped in. Driving himself into the ground finding reasons to keep the hippogriff alive. Ron would side with her in S.P.E.W. She just needed to talk to him with a different approach in mind. She was sure.

For now she slept with thoughts of DADA and a way to break the Ministry's control over Hogwarts. They needed a place where that horrible woman wouldn't be able to interfere.

It was the next morning that that she found Ron already had an idea. He stabbed at his most recent paper for the toad; _Ministry Laws In Concerns To Public Misconduct._

"She hates kids," Ron said through a mouthful of blueberry muffin. "There's no way in Merlin's sagging breaches that she'll be anywhere near Hogsmeade in October. It gives Harry time to sort it out in his head and us time to spread the word Cognito like."

"And no one will think twice about Hogwarts students gathering in Hogsmeade!" Hermione said excitedly, her mind already going over all the different possibilities. "Who do you think we should invite?"

Ron swallowed and stuffed his papers in the bag as Harry came into the great hall.

"I say we keep it to people who can keep their mouths shut, you know? Colin's a sweet kid and he'd be there in a gif, but I'm pretty sure he twitters more than Pig. Maybe later when its more set in stone and there's less of a chance of this blowing up on us, we can expand, but for now…"

"I agree."

Harry sat down and Ron immediately started loading Harry's plate up with bacon and toast, pouring Harry a glass of milk as well. Hermione smiled to herself, ducking her head down into her book so neither boy could see.

Colin showed up anyway, toting his little brother with him, much to the chagrin and exasperation of Ron and Hermione.

* * *

Ron was this close to throwing Zacharias Smith out of the Hog's Head, smarmy little mouth first. Listening to Harry speaking of Voldemort's return, the tense way his shoulders locked up as he made his stance clear on not speaking about that night, Ron couldn't help but feel proud of his mate. He'd half expected Harry to bail when more than twenty students shuffled into the bar. Instead he'd stood his ground and took over Hermione's introduction like it was the easiest thing in the world.

"Look," Harry said and for the first time since this meeting began, everyone fell silent. "I… I don't want to sound like I'm trying to be modest or anything, but… I had a lot of help with all that stuff…"

"Not with the dragon, you didn't," said Michael Corner at once. "That was a seriously cool bit of flying…"

"Yeah, well-" Harry started to say, trailing off.

Ron snickered a bit, but Hermione nudged him hard in the ribs, giving him a look. He rolled his eyes. Adjusting himself to keep himself awake. He was absolutely exhausted, though he hadn't really done much today.

"And nobody helped you get rid of those dementors this summer," said Susan Bones.

"No," Harry agreed. "No, okay, I know I did bits of it without help, but the point I'm trying to make is-"

"Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?" Zacharias Smith interrupted _again_. Done. Ron was done. He stood slightly, staring down at the little shit so that their eyes met.

"Here's an idea," Ron spoke loudly, making it clear that anyone else who wanted to interrupt _one more time_ would be getting the same treatment. "Why don't you shut your mouth?"

Zacharias flushed, leaning back with a wince, but he didn't go down immediately.

"Well, we've all turned up to learn from him, and now he's telling us he can't really do any of it."

"That's not what he said," snarled Fred.

George tilted towards Zacharias, giving a vicious grin.

"Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?"

Ron saw George pull out a Zonko's brain wand, meant to send the victim into a paranoid frenzied state that lasted a good ten minutes.

"Or any part of your body, we're not fussy about where we stick this," Fred casually added.

"Yes well," Hermione said quickly, evidently wanting to take back control of the situation before either of the twins could make good on their promise. He thought it was a bit funny that she hadn't immediately come to the defense of the much younger student, but guessed that even Hermione could see the little git deserved it. "Moving on… the point is, are we agreed we want to take lessons from Harry?"

Ron didn't hear what anyone had to say as the next second he was seeing white and black spots as his head blazed with pain. He clutched at it, tensing as he reached for his pocket where the headache drought was only to find it empty. He mentally cursed, holding still and hoping to ride out the worst of everyone was too distracted by Harry.

Eventually the pain sizzled out to a minor painful throb that was manageable. Before he knew it, he felt paper being shoved into his hands. He blinked slowly, the white gone, but black dots in front of his vision more pronounced now. As the world twisted around him, he suddenly wasn't sure if the two sips of butterbeer he'd taken wanted to stay in his stomach.

He clutched at the thing in his hands, feeling it crinkle a little under his hold. It was a paper. A list of names. Their names for the group. Ron eyed the thick material, feeling something off about it as it laid heavily against his skin. More so than regular paper should.

"Who?" He mumbled.

Hermione was watching him. Ron looked up to see her anxious face eyeing the quill in his hands and he knew… Hermione had done something to this to ensure it wouldn't be broken. Trusting her implicitly, Ron signed his name just under hers. He nodded to her, wondering if she could see how he felt or what he knew from his expression.

The paper quickly left his hands.

It went around until everyone had signed, though Ron hardly noticed, wondering where the hell he'd put the bottle of headache drought. He was so sure he'd kept it on him since they were going so far from the dorms. Normally he kept it in a drawer and simply went back to their room if he needed some, but…

"Alright there, Ronnie?" George asked.

Ron jerked, nodding his head in the vague direction his brother was in. Ron could be _on fire_ surrounded by Death Eaters and he'd still give his brothers the same answer. Nothing good ever happened from admitting otherwise.

They were talking about locations and Ron had this odd picture of them all gathering in a secret lair of some sort, like the Chamber of Secrets under the school, but quickly tossed the idea. Even if they could convince Harry of opening the stupid thing, he could guarantee half the people would get to the bottom, see the bones and start climbing back up the pipe. He mumbled something about McGonagall's classroom, hardly paying attention when it was readily dismissed.

People disappeared rather quickly. Truly it was as if he blinked and they were all gone. He heard Hermione and Harry discussing things. He followed them when they stood up, leaving his nearly full butterbeer on the table. The too sweet taste had left him feeling off. Not quite sick, but close enough that he figured drinking it might just do the trick. The place was filthy anyways, which was probably the reason for the off taste. He usually loved butterbeer and he felt bad wasting Harry's money since he'd bought all three of them drinks.

"Ron!"

"Sorry?" Ron mumbled, looking up to see both Harry and Hermione staring at him. "I… what?"

A strange look crossed Hermione's face.

"It's probably better you didn't hear that anyways," Hermione sighed. "I want to go buy a quill. Give me a minute."

"You alright there, Ron?"

"Just…" Ron gestured vaguely outwards, as if Hogsmeade could offer him an excuse for how absentminded he'd been today. "…peachy," he finished lamely.

Harry raised an eyebrow at him to which Ron smiled back weakly.

* * *

Ron was eyeing her coolly, wholly unimpressed with her hats and her buttons, and by extension- her. Hermione stood her ground, holding out her S.P.E.W support button.

"No."

"I'm not asking you to make hats or help me. I just want you to wear the pin, or do you support slavery?" Hermione hissed.

"Good on you, winning arguments through accusations," Ron growled. "Look, it's unfair and horrible that they're enslaved, but you're going about this the wrong way."

"Oh?" she said coldly, stabbing a finger in Ron's direction. "Then how would you go about it? By having them make you a sandwich? Laughing when cruelty is shown to them?"

Knowing exactly was she was on about, Ron glowered.

"Kreature is an asshole. He's a twisted little twat who deserves to have his dearest desire given to him; his head on a spike." Furious, Hermione opened her mouth to retort when she found Ron's hand being held up, directly in front of her. "That's who he is, his personality, his soul, and he has to take responsibility for himself just like everyone else."

"He has been abused his whole life! He is simply what he was forced to be. Don't you think if he was shown kindness or compassion, that if he was free then he could have turned out differently?"

"You see, right there, that's what I have a problem with," Ron told her. "You speak about house elves like pets, like they aren't their own person but solely an inferior creature without the ability to think or talk for themselves."

Ron pointed at her hats, covered not so subtle like at the edge of the common room's couch, by a misplaced blanket.

"Instead of working with them you act as if you know better than them. Instead of talking with them you talk for them. They deserve to be free, but traumatizing them and tricking them into it isn't the way to do this. You're so impatient that you're unwilling to wait even when its what they might need. They might need you to do this slowly, they might need to consider this in steps. You're right, they have been enslaved for a long time and mistreated. Dobby was and he wanted to be free. That shows that there _are_ some that are ready, but tricking them? That's only going to set the very species you want to help against you!"

She felt her lip tremble and bit down hard to force it to stop.

"Then how would you suggest I do this then? Huh? Any bright ideas? Or are you fresh out?" She stabbed at him.

"Can you guys take this somewhere else?" Lee Jordan asked, wearily. He had a book propped open and what looked like N.E.W.T.S level Transfiguration homework beside him. Hermione blushed, peeved and embarrassed that she had indeed let her voice raise higher and higher as the exchange of heated words had so quickly developed into an argument.

"Ronald and I have to do rounds anyways," Hermione muttered quietly. It looked as if that was the last thing Ron wanted to do in that moment, but he nodded sharply, grabbing his bag to drop off in the dorms above.

It took Ron much longer to come down than it should have and she found her bad mood worsening rapidly at the wait. At the sight of his expression she knew this patrol would be painful. He looked stiff with anger, but as he passed her, it seemed that his mood was not because of her.

"Seamus had a go at me," Ron said simply. "Let's get out of here."

She nodded, sympathy replacing her soured mood somewhat. Dean had shown up in Hogsmeade, offering up no words for the absent Gryffindor. The division in the school was escalating in severity even as most agreed that Umbridge was unbearable and wanted her gone. The decrees were increasing by the day and the tyrannical woman showed no signs of stopping.

More than the school though, Hermione knew that Ron was suffering from a division in the family as well. Percy's choice was known among the Ministry of Magic, but few in Hogwarts were aware of the third eldest son's row and subsequent removal from the Weasley family.

Ron had looked so excited when he'd first gotten that letter, despite claiming that Percy was a being a prat about the whole thing with his parents. Afterwards… it was clear the letters contents, demanding he sever ties with Harry had damaged his relationship with his big brother. For the first time ever Hermione was not jealous that Ron's family was so involved in the magical world and didn't even want to consider what her own parents would say or how they would feel if they were aware of the turmoil surrounding her world.

And then the article had come out.

Harry had been too busy reading the paper to notice, but Percy's backing of Umbridge in the Daily Prophet had caused Ron's eyes to glaze over and a haunted look to flicker across his face before he shook himself of it. But Hermione had seen. Could not unsee. This whole debacle was affecting Ron far more than he was willing to admit.

"He'll come around," she reassured him, the earlier argument forgotten.

"Maybe," Ron said stiffly, shrugging as they heading towards the north tower for their assigned area.

It wasn't such a terrible night. A few lost second years trying to find the Divination's classroom to see if they wanted to take it the following year as an elective. A sixth year Ravenclaw carrying too many books who they helped to the general area of the house entrance. Ron had 'let her' help a young third year Hufflepuff who'd been crying alone in one of the abandoned classrooms. Simply saying that she knew he'd botch it up horribly so it was best to just get to the part where she fixed it.

It was after she talked the girl down and they sorted things out that Hermione realized something was wrong. Ron was no longer standing just outside the classroom looking decidedly out of place and lost. Instead he was sitting on the ground, legs loosely spread out before him, appearing dazed.

"Ron?!" Hermione crouched down and touched his forehead, not feeling a fever or chill. "What's wrong? Why are you on the floor?"

"I'm okay," Ron reassured her. "I got dizzy all of a sudden. Had to sit down."

Without thought, she sat down next to him, her side against his.

"Six inches," he teased her, but there was an exhaustion that simply hadn't been there before. She played along anyways.

"I'll have you know, Ronald, that last month our dear Professor had me write a three-foot essay on _The Proper Behavior of a Woman of Magic._ I'm practically a bonified expert in my field."

"Do tell?" Ron snickered. "Well you've met your match then. I myself presented a very posh piece on _The Responsibilities of a Respected Working Member of Society._ I do think that our dear Head Inquisitor is trying to tell me something, but for the life of me, I can't figure it out."

They broke down into giggles there in the hall.

"Really though," Ron said more seriously, "I've mentally written a manuscript titled; _How to murder your Hogwarts Professor and Get Away With it-_ I even have practice exercises on Snape in little side notes throughout the book. If we don't do anything about this soon, I might start using the text for 'homework assignments.'"

Hermione guffawed, nudging him hard in the shoulder.

"I suppose your first suggestion is in there."

"Poison is chapter two, right after -Homicide With Humor."

Hermione looked sideways at Ron, noting the dampness gleaming along his neck. The dark shadows under his eyes seemed to have developed a life of their own. Ron needed more than just a nap. He looked truly worn down. She knew he'd been struggling with the O.W.L.S workload they'd been getting, but she hadn't realized it had been getting to him this badly. She vowed to leave the S.P.E.W stuff for a much later date and to help him a bit by checking over his work.

Anything but this clear struggling.

* * *

Ron's observation during the meeting turned out to be true. Decree number twenty-four: The disbandment of all organizations showed up not long after the meeting in Hogsmeade and Hermione admitted to jinxing he paper. He probably never would have noticed if he hadn't been feeling so under the weather the whole time. His attention span had zeroed in on the five feet directly around him and refused to notice anything else which meant mainly Hermione, Harry and his shoes.

They were heading down to potions after ensuring the Hedwig would be taken care of by Grubbly-Plank. Whoever would attack an owl just to get to the letter meant for a fifteen-year-old had serious issues, as far as Ron was concerned. The ridiculous paranoid actions they'd all been taking now seemed not so ridiculous at all and Ron would have to remember to keep his own letters more vague despite the fact that he didn't think anyone would think to check _his_ letters. The thought of anyone thinking he had anything important to say was laughable. Still, they might consider that Harry was using Ron's name on letters to send out information. It was a possibility and Ron had been used to get letters to Sirius before so…

His head throbbed. He resisted the urge to reach up and touch it. Stumbling only a little down the stairs to the dungeons. He suddenly realized how knackered he was and the idea of going down to face Snape in potions left him feeling very nearly overwhelmed.

It was exhausting to deal with it all and Ron had the sinking feeling that whatever was wrong with him was much worse than chronic headaches. So far each time he'd been forced to see Pomfrey, she'd been able to pinpoint a particular spot of damage immediately. His head for the concussion in first year and the bite wound on his finger from the baby dragon. A few scrapes and bruises in second year after going down into the Chamber of secrets. His leg and arm in third year. She had never done a full body examination before.

Whatever was wrong with him though, he'd rather deal with than have the exam. Anything was better than getting that exam. Maybe even dying. Maybe not dying. Ron messaged his head, trying not to let thoughts of everyone knowing filter through. Well, not everyone, Pomfrey would never disclose it, but…

"Don't rise," he heard Hermione warn. "It's what he wants."

Ron looked up to see what she was talking about only to spot Draco Malfoy smirking at them. _'Bollocks,'_ Ron thought, clenching his fists. _'Smarmy little bastard, what is he on about now?'_

"I mean," Malfoy raised his voice, "if it's a question of influence with the Ministry, I don't think they've got much chance."

A chance at what!? What had he missed? Ron frowned as Draco continued.

"From what my father says, they've been looking for an excuse to sack Arthur Weasley for years… And as for Potter… My father says it's a matter of time before the Ministry has him carted off to St. Mungo's, apparently they've got a special word for people whose brains have been addled by magic."

Malfoy made a grotesque face, eyes rolling and tongue hanging out. Crabbe and Goyle laughed on cue. Ron opened his mouth to tell Malfoy to shove off when he heard Hermione gasp behind him.

"Neville, no!"

A body swept passed him, brushing his shoulder. Ron blinked in surprise as Neville raised his fist to pound Malfoy's face in- but not quite fast enough. Harry had leaped into action, grabbing Neville by the back of his robes and hauling him back. Ron could see his own shock reflected on Malfoy's face.

"Help me!" Harry cried out as Neville struggled against Harry's hold looking ready to tear Malfoy apart. Ron finally moved, grabbing Neville around the chest and helping Harry pull him back away from the horror struck Slytherine.

An elbow jabbed him in the head and for a second all Ron saw was white. His grip loosened a bit, but he held on even as it felt as if his head split open. One of Neville's arms got loose and this time when Ron got hit on the shoulder, not even very hard, he felt his world tilt anyways. As if a bludger had collided with him.

He hit the floor hard and clutched at his head. When he opened his eyes, he couldn't see. Everything felt off balance and too bright. He got his arms under him, but it was hard. Too hard. His legs came next and it was like he was standing on a rotating disk. He closed his eyes, but that seemed to only make him more aware of the way his body sloshed back and forth.

Someone tried to help him up, but the motion was too much. He tried to say as much, but it was like his mouth was filled with honey. Words were going in and out around him. He clutched at the person by him as he tried to blink away the spots.

"…gulations Mr. Longbottom, you've given your housemate a concussion."

' _Not Neville's fault,'_ Ron's mind tried to defend. _'It's mine, I should have…'_

Arms forced him up before he was ready. His knees were weak beneath him and he tried to keep them steady, but they lurched one way or the other. There were stairs in front of him now. Ron clutched at the railing for dear life and became aware of a harried babbling.

It was Neville."

"I'm sorry, sorry, I didn't… I'm so stupid… I shouldn't have…"

Harry was shushing him. Ron felt Harry readjust his hold on him. Neville, who'd let go at the stairs, was hovering worriedly out of the corner of Ron's eye. He reached out to place a hand reassuringly on his shoulder, but his knuckles hit the place over Neville's heart instead and rather than the 'It's alright, I'm fine, don't worry' that he wanted to come out, what really did was:

"As fin' don't ry."

"Right," he heard Harry mutter. "Right."

At the top of the stairs, Neville had to pry Ron's fingers from the banister. He tried to tell them that if they just let him be for a minute, he'd be fine. He only needed to sit for a bit and he'd be right as rain.

"How hard did you hit your head?" Harry asked halfway to the medical wing.

Ron looked blankly at him.

"I didn't."

"Guess that's answer enough," Neville muttered, looking _very_ guilty.

"Not your fault," Ron finally managed passed the honey and glob. Was his tongue swollen? He bit it a little to see, but it didn't feel any larger than normal. He tasted copper and realized he might have bit down a little too hard. "Mine."

There was an incredulous snort.

It was getting easier to see though and the world was righting itself. His steps became more sure and he could stand somewhat on his own. It wasn't until his knees strengthened and he felt he could take his own weight that he gently pushed Harry away from him.

"It's okay. It's okay. I can walk. I'm okay."

"I don't think…" Neville said worriedly.

Ron steadied himself, blinking hard and swallowing the blood so they couldn't see.

"Medical Wings right there, why don't you two head back? I'll go in and get myself fixed up and meet you for…"

His mind went blank as he tried to think of what class they had next.

"Trelawney's class," Neville reminded quietly.

"Right, up lots of stairs in the tower. I think I might…. Stay in the medical wing for that," Ron said uneasily, feeling sick just thinking about it. "Go, I got this."

They could hear her talking to another student, so Ron sat down in one of the waiting chairs.

"Maybe I should tell her you're here," Neville said nervously, moving from foot to foot.

"Nah," Ron said, trying hard for casual. "She'll be out in a minute and she'll whip up some gross thing for me to drink and I'll be fit to tell our dear divinations teacher about how Malfoy's dress was on fire because he was having tea with a dragon in my dreams last night."

He winked. The relieved air around Neville was worth the head rush. Harry still looked hesitant so Ron leaned back in his chair and put the back of his hand on his forehead.

"But if you feel the need to stay and care for my poor ailing mind, I could use a few treacle tarts from the kitchens," he opened his eyes in time to see Harry rolling his eye at him.

"Alright, we're going, I'm sure Hermione will be happy to go through all of her notes with you for Snape's class," Harry added, an evil glint in the git's eyes.

"I hope you'll make up for it with your beautiful doodles where your notes are supposed to be," Ron shot back.

Neville was smiling now and Ron waved them both away. He listened to their footsteps until it was clear they'd left this wing of the castle altogether. Glancing at Pomfrey's office door, Ron stood up on unsteady legs and fled the hospital wing himself.


	5. Chapter 4: Old Enough

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

* * *

Chapter 4: Old Enough

How old does a person have to be to recognize the significance of things that have happened in the past?

Ron remembers little moments.

When Ron was eight and Ginny came home from playing out near the road, she was crying. A couple of older kids had _bullied_ her. They had called her names and made insinuations. They had used words, not laying a single hand on her, to harm her. It had been an altogether more vicious and spiteful sort of bullying than what the twins did. They had not touched her, but they had hurt her, and they were in the wrong. A small inclination had begun, but it was pushed down to a place where he kept things that were 'better not to think about.'

How old does a person have to be to understand the things we witness as children?

When Ron was nine he caught Charlie and Tonks snogging behind the shed. Charlie had been right pissy about it and had yelled at Ron about privacy and it being bad if mum knew, and after promising not to say a word… well, there had been a tiny little piece that had slid into place in his mind.

Charlie had been caught anyways and their mum had spent two days muttering darkly about 'inappropriate behavior' and 'there's children around' and 'they could have _at least_ found a locked room if they wanted to have fun.' Understanding. Shock. Numbness. Another piece sliding into place.

How old for the many adult concepts of the world slip into place and for a person not just to remember the past, but to see the things that happened for what they truly were?

The train ride with Harry, for one. A shy kid with marks about him that looked suspiciously like fingers. Hagrid talking darkly about the Dursleys. Certain things Harry said while he wasn't paying attention. Words that the adults mumbled while glancing at Harry with concern and worry. The word _abuse_ came up. Mistreatment. Manipulation. Neglect. The details started to build a picture though Ron wasn't sure when he went from such uncertainty to knowing what abuse was and what it looked like. The details sort of just moved seamlessly into place in his mind.

By the time Ron was twelve he understood what the lack of response to his letters meant. The implications of what might be happening to the boy who'd become his best friend at that very moment. Ron had been the picture of an anxious pigeon, molting feathers and everything and when the twins had finally taken noticed and asked? Ron had blown up with his theories and had been able to put words to the fear and worry. Ron had been able to communicate the need for help and had been able to imply and suggest and explain until there was understanding on his brothers faces.

Ron was old enough to be able to put into words exactly what was wrong.

He'd been able to get help and rescue Harry.

It had been therapeutic in a way.

How old does a person have to be for complex thoughts to start forming, not just the understanding of them, but to see all the undertones in a conversation people use? To be able to listen for what people meant rather than what they said?

The idea that Buckbeaks impending trial wasn't actual a trial at all, that all the research he'd done was useless, because this wasn't about discerning whether the beast was guilty or not, but rather, a power play, came rather like a brick slamming into his face. The idea that what was right and wrong had no place in this particular fight had caused another such fight to surface. The idea that there existed men and woman out there that would harm others, kill, simply in the name of demonstrating their power.

A piece slid into place.

And then _it_ had been revealed and suddenly all those pieces wound and looped around each other until it was a complete knot. Whole and complicated and messy and Ron found that when he tried to pull out of the knot, he found himself tied closer to the center. And Ron had to close his eyes and pretend as if he wasn't there in order to stop the knot from suffocating him.

How old before the little things come back with clarity and understanding?

Like when he was fourteen and he realized why crucio sounded so familiar and not because he'd heard his magical parents talking about it before. How, as they spoke about the three unforgivable in class, a little puzzle piece clicked into place. And he'd thought _'Oh, OH! That makes sense. That's what…'_

Ron had taken a deep breath and let all the thoughts flow out. After class he'd forgone doing homework for a quidditch magazine and had reread all the articles in it twice before it calmed him down enough to move on.

At fifteen Ron recognized Umbridge for what she really was. He understood all the tones she used and all the implications she made. He understood how she manipulated the system to attain more power and the people she must have walked all over to get into the position she held. She was power hungry and hate filled and sought to harm in order to attain influence and prestige for herself.

He understood, perhaps more than Hermione or even Harry, what sort of monster was trying to take over the school. He understood what sort of depravity a person like Umbridge was willing to go to in order to get what he wants.

Umbridge reminded Ron of the Boogeyman. The way they spoke and smiled, the way they moved and the manner in which their minds worked. He despised Umbridge with a hatred that scared him. He didn't just want her fired. He genuinely wanted her to feel pain and agony. He felt the itch to cause it himself.

It had been hard to hold back in the office with Hermione.

Harder still when she continued giving Harry detentions. Detentions that were more like torture sessions, meant to brainwash and manipulate, to inflict power on a person who Umbridge saw as a threat to her power.

Ron wasn't a kid anymore and he'd be damned if anyone wanted to try to manipulate and hurt him in the name of power. For once he was all for preemptive strike. His anger having chilled to a cold fury.

"The three-foot paper on _'The Pureblood Agenda: Defending Those Who Should Not Need Defending,'"_ Ron said lightly, smiling brightly at the puffed up cunt.

"Did you find it enlightening?" Umbridge asked, plucking the paper from his hands in distaste.

"Oh, yes, most certainly," Ron chirped, looking around the room at the many cats whose eyes watched him closely. Too closely to be simply ornamental. They were designed like paintings and Ron would bet on Merlin's sagging arse that Umbridge had an empty plate sitting next to her bed to inform her of anything untoward happening in her office.

He had to give credit where credit was due though. If she hadn't used a blood quill on Harry, Ron never would have thought of using ink as a weapon. Every week since school started he'd been forced into this room and all of his observations were paying off.

"That's why I came here without Hermione tonight," Ron admitted. "I wanted to talk to you about… well, I mean. I shouldn't. I should go… thank you, High Inquisitor. I really do appreciate all you've done."

Ron turned as if to leave only to hear the familiar 'hm, hm.'

He let himself glance back, trying to keep a look of surprise on his face, seeing the smiling face of Umbridge gesturing towards the chair in front of her. Ron took it, fidgeting nervously. The crack across her face, Ron imagined, was supposed to be reassuring, but it came off predatory.

"Hermione's a muggleborn, you see, and she can be very… aggressive," Ron said carefully, adding a light pitch to his voice. "She's always pushing for all of these things that are… well, let's just say that I disagree with her."

" _Please,"_ Umbridge urged, voice like syrup, "Mr. Weasley, what sort of… inappropriate topics is she harassing students about."

"Well," Ron started, keeping his voice uncertain. He watched the walls out of the corner of his eye. The kittens were falling asleep in their dish paintings. One by one. The letters on Ron's paper that Umbridge had set aside were slowly moving from black ink to a bright blue color. "She's always urging things like… house elf rights and talking about werewolves being… people." Ron whispered the last word watching as Umbridge appeared to puff up like a peacock in self-righteous rage.

And then Ron's letters rose up from the paper, the ink forming an arrow that shot forward. Umbridge opened up her mouth in what was no doubt a diatribe of bigotry when the spell struck her in the neck. She slumped backwards against the chair. Out like a light.

"Bitch," Ron muttered under his breath as he stood up.

Ron had questioned Harry earlier this week were Umbridge kept her blood quill. Locating the box was fairly easy, and when Ron had the thing in his hands, he snapped it clean in two.

As quickly as possible, Ron pulled out Hermione's infinitely expandable purse. The spell he'd cast was only meant to give him ten minutes tops before Umbridge and the paintings woke up. He pulled out a large pile of books.

 _Policies for a New Age_

 _The Advantages of Being Half_

 _The Miracle of Bloodtraitors_

 _Werewolves Welcome_

 _Vampires in the Home_

 _Selective Hearing and How it Damages the Magical Brain_

 _Half-Breeds make Whole People_

 _Muggleborn Miracles_

 _The Impure in Pureblood_

 _Purebloods: Crafting a Generation of Inbreeds_

And every book written by Albus Dumbledore. Ever. Ron replaced all the books on Umbridge's shelf, stealing the ones he and Hermione had been forced to write from for months into his bag and the ones that were no doubt on her list of future books to give them. Ron shoved the remarkably small purse into his pocket, snatched his 'paper'- now blank sheets, from the desk and put them with the destroyed blood quill in his pocket.

His heart beating wildly in his chest, Ron sat down in the chair and collected himself. He wasn't sure how long it had taken and feared she might wake any second. When Ron saw one of the kittens stirring, Ron clutched his paper to him and stood at the desk gently shaking Umbridge's shoulders.

"Professor?" Ron called. "Professor!"

Umbridge jerked awake. Staring wide eyed at him. Ron held out his paper for her to take.

"You were asleep when I walked in," Ron said, making sure to give her a disgusted look as he pulled his hand away. "I've got your papers."

Umbridge's eyes narrowed at him, glancing at her desk to find that the paper Ron had handed to her before were gone. She appeared surprised and snatched the papers from his hands. Ron held his breath as she looked it over, muttering to herself.

"You have Miss. Grangers paper here too, I see," Umbridge said darkly.

"Yes?" Ron asked, trying for confused, before pointing out. "Hermione gave you mine last week. You've never said anything against it before."

There was suspicion in her eyes. She looked at her cats, one of which meowed loudly. Ron crossed his arms behind his back, tense as he hoped the description of the spells affects on paintings was accurate and not BS. Hermione might trust text implicitly but those things were written by people and if there was one thing Ron had learned it was that…

"You're dismissed," Umbridge snapped, eyeing him in irritation.

Ron practically melting out of the room, forcing himself not to bolt like he was guilty of anything. When there was enough distance between them though, Ron let his pace pick up, his long legs taking him all the way to Gryffindor Tower.

He couldn't stop grinning.

He made it to the common room and his face was actually starting to hurt from sheer giddiness. Ron spotted Harry and Fred and George hanging out with the Quidditch team, muttering strategies to one another over a piece of paper. McLaggan the Gryffindor Keeper was mysteriously absent though. Which was fine with Ron, it meant that there were only DA members here.

Harry looked up, both his brows rising as he spotted Ron. Harry nudged George in the ribs, who looked up, blinked, and then slapped Fred on the shoulder. Fred scowled, glancing up to reprimand him when he too spotted Ron.

"What's that shit grin you're wearing for?" Fred called. The rest of the quidditch team's attention was drawn to him and Ron let out a hysterical laugh.

"I'm in so much fucking trouble," Ron burst out. "I need a place to hide the evidence."

"Excuse us, Angelina dear," George called, _prancing_ over to Ron.

"Our little brother has proven he's related to us after all," Fred finished.

"What did you do?" Harry demanded.

Ron shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out the two halves of the blood quill, Harry's eyes going as wide as saucers. Ron could see Harry's hand twitch. That tiny movement was all the thanks Ron needed. Harry pulled him into a one-armed hug anyways, grinning like a maniac.

"Let me grab the map. I want _every_ detail."

* * *

The news of Umbridge's office being 'vandalized' and 'robbed' overnight reached every student by the start of first class the next morning. Stiff as a board and about ready to drop from a heart attack, Ron lied smoothly through every one of both Umbridge's and McGonagall's questions.

Umbridge with growing fury.

McGonagall with a distant, but proud air to her upright stance.

' _No, he had no idea where her books had gone.'_

' _When he'd arrived at the office last night, nothing seemed out of the ordinary except for Umbridge sleeping.'_

' _No, he hadn't noticed that the books were exchanged.'_

' _Blood Quill? You own a Blood quill professor? Whatever for?'_

' _No, Professor, but I swear I will keep a lookout for anyone who looks nefarious.'_

"Indeed," McGonagall stated gravely. "You are dismissed then, Mr. Weasley."

"Absolutely not!" Umbridge seethed. "This… this hooligan! He does not deserve to be a Prefect! He does not deserve to go to school here! He is clearly the criminal!"

"With what evidence?" McGonagall demanded sharply. "Ronald here didn't notice anything afoot last night. He simply dropped off your _papers_ as you instructed him and Miss. Granger." Here McGonagall gave Umbridge a look of unbridled fury. Ron realized belatedly that he and Hermione hadn't told McGonagall about the extra assignments Umbridge had demanded and this was the first time she was hearing about it. "Now, I understand the need to punish those who have done wrong, but I believe even the Minister of Magic would agree that some form of evidence needs to be given before you randomly administer punishment beyond detentions. If you, however, believe Cornelius would think otherwise, then perhaps we should call him here along with Kingsley Shacklebolt? Kingsley is the head of the Auror department and if you truly believe that there is a criminal here in the castle then it would be best to bring him in."

Ron was pretty sure that Harry's punishment with the blood quill was against the law and he suspected that McGonagall knew that Umbridge had a few things in her office of questionable history. She'd looked ashen at the mention that Umbridge owned a blood quill in the first place. Ron fought hard to keep his face in the 'innocent student' position he'd been maintaining. Umbridge glowered.

"That will not be necessary. I will have plenty of evidence soon enough, believe me," Umbridge snapped, glaring heatedly at Ron, she marched out of the door. The moment the door closed Ron slumped against his chair, his spine having ground to dust from its rigid hold.

He was shocked when McGonagall locked the door and placed a silencing charm upon it.

"Er…"

"Blood quills and forcing students to write bigoted papers. This has gone too far," McGonagall muttered. Ron watched with wide eyes as tea began to make itself and biscuits set themselves on the table. "Drink, Mr. Weasley, and you will tell me what you have actually done so that Kingsley and I might cover for you adequately." Here, she glared so fiercely that the dust his spine had become threatened to come out as something else entirely. "And next time you will come to me or so help me, you will be performing tasks till midnight, every night, even after you graduate. Is that understood?"

Ron gulped.

"Yes, mam."

* * *

Defense Against the Dark Arts held a danger now that no spell casting course had ever posed. Despite only being able to read from their textbook, each class felt as if Umbridge were trying to assassinate him with her eyes alone.

Harry, the fool that was his best friend, couldn't stop grinning.

They struggled through reading the third chapter as this occurred, Hermione murmuring memorized phrases in an almost bored mumble throughout the whole class. But Ron noticed that she and Harry always made sure that Ron was in the middle of them. It was a nice touch, Ron felt, even though he thought Harry needed more protection than Ron did.

One good thing came out of it all though, Fred and George had stopped giving him the cold shoulder for his Prefects status. Which, if he were completely honest, was worth dealing with ten Umbridge's. He hated being on his brother's bad side. Except Percy who was being a right git. He didn't mind being on the bad side of Percy. The ponce.

Fred And George's little demonstration of puking and fixing themselves up to a large crowd of students had caused his own weak pallet of late to roll each time vomit hit the bucket. He distracted himself by reading over the notes of the Potion's class he missed out on and outlining the essay that would surely take him most of night to write.

Of course, things never went quite as they planned, he should expect it by now. Sirius's fire call had given all of them a scare. The familiar ringed hand reaching through the flames to grab at Sirius had given him a heart attack. As he and Harry had rushed to close the boy's dorm door, he'd caught Hermione's wide-eyed stare as she closed the girls. Dolores Umbridge nearly caught Sirius Black.

"That was too close," Ron whispered fearfully.

He saw the same fear reflected in Harry's eyes, who nodded shakily back at him.

"How did she know?" Harry demanded, anger lacing his words now.

Ron shook his head helplessly.

"She's like a blood hound. A control freak with a streak of mean as long as Dumbledore's beard," Ron breathed. "All we can do is be thankful she wasn't successful."

Harry nodded and together they trudged up the stairs and slipped quietly into their beds.

* * *

With the approaching first quidditch game coming up fast and Umrbidge's continued interference in every little thing that ran the school, with the danger Sirius was in, and Hagrid's continued absence, Ron wondered how long Harry would be able to take things before he just… snapped.

The first D.A meeting and the ones that followed were fantastic successes. More than that though, Ron was feeling much better lately and even the headaches had eased to a minor nuisance. It truly had been a good idea to leave the hospital wing. Whatever this had been, it was clear that it was coming to an end.

Ron flicked the coin Hermione had created, the small piece catching the light as it came back down. He caught it easily, thumbing the date of the last meeting still etched at the top. He remembered the blush on her cheeks when Terry Boot had spoken of her ability in awe.

He and Harry took advantage of Hermione's raw talent more often than not. They accepted her for who she was, completely, no matter if it was her need to control what was happening around her, her enthusiasm to help everyone, her brilliant if overwhelming ideas. Her strict need to uphold the rules, her respect for authority, her disrespect for anything unprofessional or against education.

Ron smiled at the thought.

If only every compliment didn't go to her head and translate into a go button for more extreme demonstrations of her more radical tendencies. Still, they should thank her for starting this. The D.A wouldn't exist for Harry to teach if it wasn't for Hermione. Everyone was so much… happier than they had been in months. Harry was so much happier than he had been. He'd been keeping his cool. So much that he'd even seen Harry smirking as Umbridge tried to get a rise out of him, replying with only polite, short retorts.

Ron put the coin in his pocket as he waited for Harry to get back to the dorms.

Seamus walked through the hole first. Ron resisted the urge to scowl at him. Instead he shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to be patient and rational and all those things Hermione kept reminding Harry to be. This was all the more reason to get Harry out of here for a night. What with the Quidditch team only recently being allowed to gather once more and the upcoming match, Harry hadn't really been able to enjoy the game, so much as inhale it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Seamus scowl at him. Ron turned and scowled right back. The Irish wizard paused, looking hard at Ron looking like he was debating saying something. Ron squared his shoulders and readied himself for the confrontation, though really didn't want to deal with Seamus tonight.

Seamus was pretty short compared to Ron. Pretty much everyone was. So when he marched up to Ron, he didn't even reach his shoulders. Ron glared down at him, hoping that his once friend would reconsider and remember just how much height Ron had on him. But Seamus looked set and determined.

"Look Ron," he started gruffly. "I know we have our differences on this and all, but what the bleeding hell is wrong with you lately?"

Ron blinked.

"What are you on about?" Ron growled. "You're the one whose off your rocker, believin' the nonsense the Ministry's been putting out."

"No, no, not that!" Seamus waved his hand, before stabbing Ron in the chest. "I mean YOU! That best mate of yours not seeing what everyone else is?"

Ron shrunk away from him, eyeing him up.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Seamus scowled again.

"I'm talking about you looking like you're fit to drop half the time. Everybody's been coming up to me and Dean and demanding to know what the feck is wrong with you and neither of us know or much want to approach ya about it, but I'm thinking enough is enough. Dean was mumbling about going to you, but we both know he's a bit of a pansy about these type of things. Don't like confrontation much, so I'm asking you."

"I'm getting better," Ron mumbled. "It wasn't anything big. Just took a while to shake."

Seamus squinted up at him as if he didn't believe Ron. After a long moment, he sighed.

"Look, Harry's got a habit of getting himself in shit that he ain't got no business in anyhow. And when that happens, he and Hermione get all obsessed about it and they pretty much ignore everything else. You're not like that. They dive into whatever it is, and while you're in the water with them, you keep your head above water. They need that and we all know it, but what happens when you need them to have their heads above water for you? Can ya say without lying through your teeth that they'd do it? Cause it seems to me they haven't really noticed anything and that's all sorts of disturbing."

"They've noticed," Ron defended automatically. "It's just not a big deal."

Seamus nodded as if he was considering something before saying.

"You know, Nev, he was telling us about how he accidentally knocked ya down and ya hit your head and got a concussion, but I was there too and I didn't see you hit your head at all. I saw ya clutch your head and look mighty sick though. Saw yeah look like you were in an awful lot o' pain for a fall that really shouldn't have done nothing to ya."

Seamus looked him in the eye and Ron flinched at the hard, angry glitter to them.

"If that were Dean on the floor like that… I'd have hauled him to Pomfrey and sat on him until she came in and took care of him and then I'd dog his every ever livin' step to make sure he was taking care of himself better for however long that took. He's my best mate, ya see, and that's what you do when their being stupidly stubborn. You're mates too busy being a self-absorbed git to notice anything amiss though. Maybe you should think about that."

Feeling angry at the stab at Harry, Ron opened his mouth to defend him, but Seamus swept passed him and up the stairs to the dorms. He slumped against the wall, thoroughly annoyed. Across the room, Ginny sent him a curious look, but he shrugged and looked away from her.

Harry would be here any second.


	6. Chapter 5: Confusion

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

* * *

Chapter 5: Confusion

The first upcoming Quidditch game was next week and the entire team was tense. Cormac McLaggen was turning out to be more of a hindrance than a help and there wasn't time to train another. Though Angelina had already assured him that she was looking for another Keeper. The way she was eyeing Ron and whispering with Fred and George made him think that Ron was about to be the happiest bloke this side of Hogwarts.

It also made him think. Ron adored Quidditch, but he'd never tried out for the team. It wasn't possible last year and there'd been no positions available in third, but why hadn't Ron tried this year?

Harry left Angelina muttering darkly about Keepers that would keep _her_ from the cup and designing practice plans that would surely end in him feeling like he'd been hit by a legion of bludgers or the Hogwarts Express. On his way back, he nearly ran into Umbridge wearing her green cloak and hood, looking ready to prey on someone other than students for once as she headed out of the castle.

The near encounter left a bad taste in his mouth and it was with dismay that he remembered that they had class with the miserable witch tomorrow for Friday morning classes. Thoughts of the D.A and how they were working directly under her nose kept him from completely falling into a brooding mess, but they would not be meeting for nearly a week.

The power hungry bent would probably have another decree up by then. These terrible thoughts were beginning to swirl into a mass of terrible feelings and Harry groaned as he realized how hard it would be to fall asleep tonight.

Then Ron swooped in.

Finger to his lips, gesturing for Harry to follow him.

They snuck out of Gryffindor Tower with the cloak in hand just before the evening bell sounded for all students to be in their common rooms or dorms. and found themselves in front of the Room of Requirements. Ron had gestured for him to stop down the hall while he paced, a look of concentration on the redhead's face. When the door finally appeared, Ron grinned at Harry, a devious gleam in his eyes.

Harry followed.

Inside the vast room were random walls. Harry blinked, glancing at Ron to see if his friend had made a mistake, but Ron seemed smug. He walked over to a large container leaning against a wall and picked up an item from within.

"You have three minutes to get to the other side of the room and arm yourself, Potter," Ron drawled, holding out the object for his inspection.

It was a perfectly round, blue ball with tiny sparks inside of it.

Ron threw it at him.

Harry yelped as the tiniest charge of electricity, like static shock, went down his arm. Rubbing it fiercely, Harry glared at him.

"What…"

"Your color is red," Ron grinned.

Harry looked from the ball rolling away to the small blue spot left behind on his arm, to Ron. Then, slowly, a grin split his face. He found himself racing to his spot, the first thrill of excitement leaping from him since… what felt like forever.

He needed this.

The balls were in his hands in less than a minute, scanning the area for Ron, for potential spots where the redhead might be hiding. He spotted ragged end robes passing by a set of walls thirty feet away. Harry ducked, putting distance between himself and his foe, sliding behind a low hanging wall, but trying to keep Ron's area in sight.

He spotted the tip of a ball to the far right. Harry moved low to the ground, keeping it in sight, getting behind Ron. The ball thrummed in his hand. Harry aimed then…

Was hit in the back.

He jerked forward, nearly stumbling, the motion got him close enough to see the ball by itself. No Ron. He rolled, ducking behind a wall to hear Ron guffawing.

' _I'll get you Weasley.'_

Harry stretched out his shoulders, ridding himself of the residue electric charge. There were things Harry was privy to, being Ron Weasley's best friend, one thing being the knowledge of Ron's very distinct shoe sound. The shoes were a size too small, the soles always emitting a squeaking sound against the marble floors of Hogwarts.

He heard those sounds now.

Harry closed his eyes, listening as they moved to the far left, trying to get behind Harry again. Harry leaped over the short wall he'd been hiding behind. Harry took his own shoes off, his sock covered feet silent as they moved.

Harry closed in to the sound. Every time Harry got close, Ron changed directions, doubling back, hunching down, Harry was both impressed and smug. He had him. Two fisted, Harry threw both balls at Ron when the other boy came around a corner.

One smacked him directly in the face, red smearing his left cheek like an Aunt Muriel kiss. The other hit his shoulder, turning the pajamas bright red there and probably earning the red head a lecture from his mother when they returned from Hogwarts. Ron flinched back, ducking behind his wall.

Harry took advantage, getting the hell out of there before Ron realized that both his little attack balls were gone and Ron could hit Harry with his own.

Finding his box turned out to be a lot more difficult than he thought among the walls. Somewhere in between refilling and escaping, he managed to earn another hit from Ron directly on his ass.

Harry was short and it was times like these when that came to his advantage. Ron had asked the room to create a variety of wall sizes for them to hide behind. But Ron was so tall that there were few, even while ducking, that he could successfully escape to. Between the squeaky shoes and his height, Harry managed to get a dozen hits on his friend to Ron's five.

It took a bit for Ron to realize what kept giving him away, but when he did, the shoes came off and somehow, in the second half of their game, Ron managed to hide himself well enough that his height wasn't making a difference anymore. In this second half, Ron got eight hits on him while Harry had only managed to get two.

The sweat felt good. His muscles were sore and stretched, a familiar burning sensation that left him relaxed and spent. The hours had ticked away and Harry had no doubts that they would sleep away the Saturday Morning, Hermione fuming at them when they finally arrived. It had been hours since they'd left Gryffindor Common Room and he wondered if the sun was threatening to pool outside their windows.

Neville might even be up.

Their fellow Gryffindor liked to tend to his plants in the early morning before the sun had even risen. He always found a way to sneak out without waking anyone and without ever getting in trouble for wandering the halls in the dark. Maybe he should ask Neville how he managed it? He, Hermione and most definitely Ron were getting far too tall to fit under the invisibility cloak.

Harry reached into his container. There was only one more ball at the bottom and he was sure Ron was in a similar position, if he had any at all. He moved his tired bones into the wall room again, passing his and Ron's shoes as he did so.

A noise turned his attention to the far back corner. Away from both of their containers and from where most of the battle had been wrought, random red and blue marks spotting the walls like war medals.

The sound of gagging.

Concerned now, Harry urged his legs to move faster.

A squelching noise, like something wet spattering against ground echoed in the room. Harry broke into a run. He came upon the sight of Ron vomiting his guts up.

"Ron!"

Pale, shaking, sick looking, Ron gestured for Harry to keep back. When the last of the puke spewed across the floor, Ron took several steps backwards and collapsed against one of the walls.

"What's wrong?" Harry blurted out.

Ron was breathing hard, one eye open. Harry waited for Ron to catch his breath before pressing him for answers again.

"Just started feeling shaky all of a sudden," Ron muttered. "Can you vanish that?"

Harry went to do so when he realized it was the ball instead of his wand in his hands. Patting himself down, he found his wand lodged deep in his pocket and quickly got rid of the vomit.

"Let's get you to Madam Pomfrey," Harry stated.

"Nah, let's just go to bed. She'll keep me in the infirmary all weekend," Ron complained. "I'm sure it's just a bug. I'll get a few hours of sleep and drink a pile of orange juice."

Harry sighed, but didn't disagree.

They made their way up to Gryffindor tower and, both exhausted but happy, they crawled into bed. The next morning, well, early afternoon, found Ron perfectly fine, so Harry didn't say anything else about it.

* * *

Neville was friends with pretty much everybody. He was also best friends with nobody. The latter left him feeling rather left out most of the time, even when he was being included every time. There just hadn't been that one person he clicked with. Not like Seamus and Dean or Ginny and Colin, or Fred, George and Lee, and definitely not like Harry, Ron and Hermione. Which was fine even if it wasn't great, because it could always be worse.

Neville was included in more groups than anyone else in Gryffindor. He could literally walk up to whoever he wanted and be instantly invited to join them. Not the little nuances that came with best friends, but far more than the random person walking by. He found himself not really being able to complain. Especially since he could eat breakfast with Seamus and Dean, lunch with Ginny and Colin and Luna, and then dinner with the golden trio. It left him more informed than any other Gryffindor. He was in on all the gossip. There was rarely something happening in Hogwarts that Neville Longbottom didn't know about.

So it surprised him when he stumbled upon Ron sleeping outside of Hagrid's hut in less than ideal weather. The chill of winter had settled in nicely, leaving many of the plants retracting and dying from frost. It was a natural process and while Neville was sad to see some of his favorite plants die out for the season, he knew they would give him plenty of enjoyable work later that year. Plus there were the winter plants to think about. Adorably, stubborn little things.

Ron was not an adorably stubborn winter plant though, so when Neville came across the red head, he freaked. His lips were tinged blue and there was a dusting of frost on his hair that belied just how long the red head had been there.

Neville's wand was in his hands in seconds and in a panicked voice he screamed.

"Ennervate."

Ron jerked and gasped, clutching at his heart and flinching as he sat up.

"Ron! What happened?"

Ron blinked, face blank as he tried to process what was going on. Neville grabbed ahold of Ron by his waist, hauling the much taller student up to his feet and dragging him towards the castle. Ron stumbled and Neville adjusted his hold to compensate for his companion.

"I was waiting for Hagrid. Sign says he'd be back in a bit," Ron slurred.

"So you decided to take a nap in the snow?!" Neville snapped.

"Just closed my eyes for a second," Ron mumbled.

Neville felt the icy skin of his friend and shook his head. Someone doesn't just fall asleep in the cold like that. Ron's eyes drooped and it was then that he noticed the dark circles under his eyes. Stained almost.

"Why were you looking for Hagrid?" Neville asked, trying to keep Ron awake. "Is he back then?"

"Back? Not yet, that's why I was waiting."

Neville halted, looking at Ron more closely.

"Hit with a confundus were you? Malfoy maybe?" Neville prodded.

Hagrid still wasn't back from absence. He knew that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been bummed about it. Neville quite enjoyed the half giants company himself, but the teacher held a special bond with these three.

"Confundus," Ron muttered, shaking his head. "No, I haven't seen the ferret around."

Fairly concerned now, Neville steered him towards the hospital wing, rubbing his hands up and down his frozen friend's arms as they moved towards the place of healing. Maybe Neville should invest in learning some healing charms? Certainly knowing the basics couldn't hurt. Especially since his friends tended to get themselves in a heck of a lot of trouble. It was vexing. Being so useless all the time.

What if Ron hadn't been able to stand? Would Neville been force to leave his friend lying there in the cold? The idea was uncomfortable. He needed to learn a spell for this. He didn't ever want to be put in that position. Hermione could certainly point him in the right direction.

"Where are we going?" Ron asked, a little more alert than minutes before, but still clearly out of it.

"Hospital wing."

"No shit?" Ron mumbled. "You hurt?"

Neville shook his head, stemming his panic.

"No, a friend of mine is though."

Ron blinked slowly before nodding.

"It's me, isn't it?"

Neville nodded again.

"My heads always hurting now, Nev. It never goes away," Ron mumbled. "Feels like I've got cotton stuffed in there. Like mum's porridge."

"Well, Pomfrey will fix you right up."

"You won't tell anyone, will you?" Ron whispered.

"I think you should have told someone a long time ago," Neville said sternly.

Ron nodded his head.

"I don't want a checkup."

"Why not, are you scared? It doesn't hurt at all. Prognosis spells just write out the history of your body. Like if you got dragonpox when you were six. You don't even feel it."

"I haven't had a check-up since I was a little kid," Ron told him, Neville struggled to keep their walk steady as Ron's legs gave out briefly. "Mum couldn't afford it. Figured if we looked healthy then we were healthy."

Neville didn't say anything. No one in Gryffindor ever brought up how poor the Weasley kids were. Not even the Weasleys. It was just one of those unspoken things. Like Harry's nightmares or Dean's not so great mom. Everybody knew, but nobody ever said.

"They're gonna know what happened. I can't let them know," Ron muttered.

An uncomfortable tight feeling hit him again, but stronger. Part concern. Part bewilderment. Part out of his depths. Neville was everyone's friend for a reason though, and letting this go was not something he could do.

"Know what?" Neville asked.

But the question was the wrong thing to say.

Ron seemed to realize that he'd said too much and became tight lipped and silent the rest of the way to the hospital wing. When they got there, it was to the sound of sobbing from the room. A Hufflepuff quidditch player had three broken ribs and a fractured leg from practice. The accident had drawn a crowd of people trying to get in. The quidditch captain, her friends, even a few bystanders just happening upon the scene.

Neville sat Ron down in the chairs where they waited.

The longer they waited, in the warmth of the hospital wing, the more aware Ron became. The red head began to flinch at every noise and person walking past them. Holding his head in his hands and looking more and more miserable until his fist was in his mouth from pain.

"Ron? What's wrong? Do you remember what happened?"

Ron nodded, trembling in his seat.

"Stupid. I was a bloody idiot. That's what. I overdosed on headache medicine. Made me all loopy."

Neville said nothing. The feeling that he'd stepped into a ten-foot pool of water when there had only been a puddle in front of him overwhelming him as he stared at Ron, trying to figure out how Neville had missed Ron needing _that much_ pain reducer potion without him or at least Harry or Hermione noticing.

A particularly large Hufflepuff boy bellowed as he walked passed, asking how the girl was. Ron bodily flinched, digging his fingers into his skull. It prompted Neville into action.

"Why haven't you gone before now?" Neville demanded. Ron stilled and the words from earlier hung between them. "Harry and I took you to Pomfrey only a few weeks ago, didn't you get one then?"

At Ron's guilty look, Neville really became furious.

"You ditched out!" He accused.

Ron didn't deny it.

"I've had one before," Ron muttered instead. "When my leg was broken. I don't know what I was rambling about."

"It seemed like you thought she'd find something. A leg is a pretty quick fix for her," Neville observed offhandedly, "perhaps you think she missed something important? Perhaps she fixed your leg but didn't bother with a diagnostic spell for such a quick, obvious injury?"

"Don't you have anything else to do, Neville?" Ron asked instead of answering.

That stung.

"Look," Ron said, apparently noticing that he'd wrong footed him. "Thanks for helping me. I was an idiot. Took too much headache medicine. I'll wait here, get the news, have a nice lecture from Pomfrey and be back to the dorms before dinner time. You don't have to sit here and die of boredom with me."

"Why did you overdose?" Neville pushed, fed up of being maneuvered around the topic. It wasn't normally this _hard_ to get people to talk. Normally they just sort of did. "Why haven't you come here before now? What are you so afraid of her finding?"

"She won't find anything," Ron snapped. "There's nothing wrong with me. Just a nasty headache."

"It doesn't seem like it," Neville said coldly. "You could have died out there."

"Then maybe you should have let me." Neville stilled, staring at Ron in shock. Ron too seemed surprised, his mouth opening and closing before clicking shut. "I didn't mean that," Ron whispered.

"I think I'm going to stay here and wait."

Ron nodded meekly. The gesture so far off from the normal behavior of his friend that he was hard pressed to come up with anything to say in the silence that followed. It was two long hours before Madam Pomphrey finally saw them. By then Ron had fallen asleep, on the waiting room chair, his long limbs curling up like a wilting flower. The mental comparison left a bad taste in Neville's mouth, but he couldn't deny the ringing truth in the thought.

Something was frighteningly wrong with Ron Weasley.

Feeling like he was betraying his friend in some way, Neville told Madam Pomfrey everything that had happened from the moment he'd spotted the red head in front of Hagrid's hut. The further into his tale, the deeper and more severe the lines on her face became.

They gently roused Ron and together bundled him into one of the beds in the hospital wing. Neville watched in fascination as the spells wove into Ron's skin. He could tell that Pomfrey was pulling out all the stops. These weren't the basic quick scans for broken noses and colds. The lines coming out of Ron's skin were turning into words on their way out, laying down on the papers in front of her as she read through them.

Dread filled him as Pomfrey's hand traveled to her mouth halfway through. Her skin taking on an ashen look as she repeatedly flipped through the pages, as if she had read them wrong the first time.

"What's wrong with him?" Neville asked anxiously.

"I'm afraid that's between Ronald, his parents and myself," Pomfrey said stiffly.

 _'Oh,'_ Neville cringed. _'Oh no.'_


	7. Chapter 6: Partial Truth

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

* * *

Chapter 6: Partial Truths

Half days at work were the best.

Arthur Weasley had just walked through the door, looking forward to a warm meal and a snuggle with his wife, when the letter arrived. In the past, he would have given the owl an exasperated shrug as he took the letter, wondering which of his children (more than likely the twins) had gotten into trouble. Since Ron had started school though…

He removed the letter with haste from the owl's leg, trying to be gentle even as his fingers shook. The letter had Pomfrey's seal on it. He ripped it open, letting the envelope drop to the floor as he began to read.

"Molly!" Arthur called out.

Apparently having heard the urgency in his voice, he heard footsteps rushing from upstairs to the ground floor. Molly arrived, hair halfway up, still dripping wet, her shirt sticking to her body.

"What is it? Goodness, what's happened?"

"It's Ron, Poppy says its urgent and that she needs us to come tonight if possible."

Molly paled, with a swift flick of her wand, the woman had her bag and a coat in her arms and they were at the floo heading towards Hogsmeade without anything else needing to be said. He knew the same thoughts were going through Molly's mind as his own. Ron was hurt, possibly Harry and Hermione as well, the kids never being too far from one another. The only question was how bad and could they fix it. The latter question lingering in the air far more than anything else.

Poppy didn't write for small troubles.

When they made it to the hospital wing, Arthur was surprised to find Ron sitting up on one of the hospital beds, face pale, but one leg hanging off the bed, the other folded up casually. Ron ducked his face down, looking away from him. Arthur frowned at the odd behavior. Poppy remained seated, her face exhausted and weary, but also severe. There were two seats set up directly across from her beside Ron's bed and when she spotted them she gestured for them to sit down.

"Thank you for coming so quickly. With a situation like this, I am bound by the law to inform the parents and to speak with them about how they would like to move forward."

"Situation like this?" Arthur asked. "What is the situation?"

"Before I tell you what is going on, I would like to reassure you that Ron will be perfectly fine. We have the ability to get rid of the virus for good and while it will take a while, I assure you that before the end of the school year, he will be returned to perfect health," Poppy comforted them.

Arthur felt his shoulder's sag in relief, but Molly stilled stood, looking bristled and ready to defend. She swept Ron in a hug, squeezing his shoulders before taking her seat and grabbing ahold of Ron's hand though he noticed that his son's fingers remained loose, rather than holding tight. In these situation's his children tended to comfort Molly more than Molly comforted them. It said a lot that Ron wasn't even making the effort. Ron still hadn't said anything either and it was this fact that kept Arthur from completely relaxing.

If the… whatever this was had been no big deal then his boy would have playfully over dramatized it. If it was a problem then Ron would have rushed to assure them that it wasn't a big deal at all. This silence though, it was so unlike his youngest son that it left a bad taste in his mouth.

"What is this Poppy?" Arthur asked.

She sighed.

"I'm afraid your son has an acquired immune deficiency syndrome. Essentially his immune system, what protects you from outside influences like viruses, has been severely damaged," Poppy told them. Arthur glanced at Ron who still wasn't looking at him. He'd been relieved to see him awake and aware, but sitting this close, Arthur could see the dark rings under his eyes. The weight the boy had lost and the small bruises along his arm. "I've already given him the potions needed to stall the virus in its tracks, but the potions to rid it from his body have… side effects."

"What sort of side effects?" Arthur asked, the last word stuck in his throat.

"He'll experience exhaustion and nausea no matter how we proceed. There are two options available, thankfully, the first would be to submit Ronald to St. Mungos. The Aids can be taken care of in a month or so. It would be an aggressive treatment, meaning Ronald would be bed ridden the whole time, and it would be a few months at least before he fully recovered from the treatment to full health, but it would be fast and there would be no danger."

"Danger?" Molly whispered.

Poppy grimaced.

"Left unchecked, Aids is a lethal disease. I can tell you now that few muggles survive contracting it," Poppy warned. "It would be a mistake to take this lightly. Aids is the last stage of the human immunodeficiency virus and takes two to ten years to develop, longer if the child received HIV from their parent. It is one of the only viruses out there where magic speeds up its spread rather than slows down."

"Last stage? What does that mean?" Molly demanded.

"It means that you haven't taken your children to any check-ups in a long time Mrs. Weasley," Poppy said, disappointment clear in her voice. Arthur flinched at the accusation, it was rare, outside of Malfoy, for their financial problems to be brought up. "If I had been aware, I could have easily of had all of your children checked out, with no cost to you at all."

Molly bristled, before deflating.

"Ronnie's never shown any signs of being seriously ill. None of the children have. Just a cold here or there."

"HIV, the first stages, would have only manifested the first few weeks it was contracted. It would have appeared as nothing worse than a cold and if it was inherited from either of you, then those symptoms would not have occurred at all."

Molly shrunk into her seat, thoroughly chastised.

"And the other option for him? The one that doesn't involve St. Mungos?" Arthur asked, trying to ignore the sting to his personal pride.

"It would take longer, much longer actually, I can treat Ronald here for the disease, but it would last through the school year and I would most likely need you to bring him back over the summer. The treatment would be less harsh and he would be able to go to classes. I would have to speak with the Professors, but I believe testing him at the end of the summer would give him more of an ability to handle his O.W.L.S as well."

Arthur glanced at Ron, who had dragged both of his legs onto the bed and sat, staring out the window. Arthur would prefer to whisk Ron away as soon as possible and to put him through the treatment that would get rid of this thing for good. He would prefer to get his little boy better as fast as possible. But. It wasn't Arthur that would have to deal with the consequences of that. Ron would have to deal with his class load and being behind, no matter what he chose, and he deserved to have a say in how this happened.

"What do you think about this, Ron?" Arthur asked. "What do you want to do?"

"We're taking him to St. Mungo's, of course," Molly snapped. "Summer is over two thirds a year away, Arthur, almost a year of him suffering this! It's best to…"

"I want to stay here," Ron cut in.

Molly squawked.

"Here? Ronnie, you're sick. How do you expect to go to classes and do work and all that nonsense when you should be in bed? You'll be in and out of the hospital before you know it and fit as a fiddle. Just in time for everyone to go home for the holidays. We can pick up your school work and I'll help you catch up. It will be just like when you were a little boy, when I taught you reading and writing and maths," Molly rambled, stroking Ron's arm up and down as Ron looked more and more uncomfortable.

"Harry's not handling this year too well, mum," Ron cut in. "He's blaming himself for Cedric's death and he's been depressed lately. I can't leave him right now."

"I'm glad you want to be there for him, Ronnie," Molly told him with pride in her voice. "But you are the one who is _sick_ and that means that you need to be taken care of right first."

"He doesn't have anyone else to lean on right now though," Ron said, sharper this time, "I want to stay here. I'll do the longer treatment. I don't want to be laid up for a month."

Arthur could see the signs of this turning into a bad row between the two, his wife was already bristling, her hand clenching around her dress as she opened up her mouth. Arthur reached forward and grabbed her shoulder. She turned, looking like a hell hound released from the bowls of the earth.

"We'll talk it over, Ron, and then we'll discuss between the three of us what we'll be doing," Arthur said firmly. Ron wilted in gratitude. He turned to Pomfrey. "We're going to take Ron home with us this weekend. Work things out. Is there anything more that we need to know? Any potions Ron will need to take?"

"Yes, yes there's a few potions he needs to take. I'll go over the side effects with you. There are some other things I need to discuss with you as well," Pomfrey warned.

"Like what?" Molly asked.

"I need to test you two for the disease. Like I said, it can be hereditary and if it is then we need to check all of your children, to be on the safe side. I've already sent for them."

Arthur felt his stomach clench. The idea that any of his children could get sick from him or Molls… The idea that this was his fault, that they'd given their boy such a terrible illness… Ron looked panicked, glancing at the door, apparently not having been aware of Pomfrey's actions until this point. Ron looked faint, tired and weary and altogether ready to drop off.

"Why don't you get some sleep while we talk to Pomfrey," at Ron's weariness, Arthur added, "we won't make any decisions until we've talked to you, I promise."

"One more potion, Ronald," Pomfrey warned, "the one beside the bed, the red one, you need to take that before you rest."

Ron eyed it as if it were one of Aunt Muriel's surprise meat loafs. Arthur reached forward and squeezed Ron's shoulder, his face darkening when he spotted dark bruising at his boy's collar bone.

"No nausea this time," Pomfrey added as she ushered him and Molly into her office. Ron looked resigned as he picked up the vial and Arthur had to wonder what he'd already been given so far.

What followed in short order were a series of diagnostic spells, shot off so quickly Arthur didn't have the time to recognize any of them. Even Molly seemed impressed. The results though, only deepened the frown Poppy wore, reminding him of the woman he knew as a Hogwarts students, back when she was only just starting out as a Healer.

"It is not genetic," she finally said.

"That's good, isn't it? It means that my other children are safe," Molly announced, Arthur watched as his wife's shoulders sagged back down into her body.

Pomfrey frowned at the door behind them, where her med bay resided.

"There are only a few ways in which a person could have gotten this disease, Molly," Poppy said slowly. "It is good for your other children, but it will make my decisions from here on out much harder."

Arthur cringed as Molly's shoulders tensed right back up.

"Oh? How so?"

"AID's is not something you catch like a cold or the flu and it is not something that you simply develop like lung cancer or ulcers." Poppy took her glasses off, cleaning them slowly as she looked first Molly in the eyes and then him. There was deep concern there. Dread of both the news itself and delivering it. He reached out and grabbed Molly's hand.

"Alright, what is it? We can deal with it Poppy, whatever it is," Arthur assured.

"AID's is a sexual transmitted disease," Poppy said carefully. "It is transferred from person to person after sharing fluids or blood. I've asked him, of course, blood could have been transferred accidentally, especially with rough housing boys. The more likely answer though… he claimed he's never had sex and while the transfer of blood by accident is a possibility, it is far less likely."

Arthur swallowed, thinking fast. No, Ron really wasn't the type… of all his children to sneak out with a girl, he would imagine Charlie or the twins. There was Hermione though. It was clear to anyone how fallen for the girl he was. He would never imagine that, even if _Ron_ had been willing, the idea that the studious Percy like young woman would ever… but he would be a fool to ignore teenage hormones.

Then there was Ron's reaction.

Ron hadn't been able to look at him.

Poppy continued, unaware of his musings.

"Now I am familiar with teenage… shenanigans, but whoever it is that he may or may not have had sex with is in danger. Without the proper treatment they will die, not if, but when. If Ronald is lying and he knows who it is who transferred it to him and is allowing a student here at Hogwarts to die. I will have to go through and test _all_ the students here to ensure their safety."

Pomfrey paused.

"I have been a Healer for students for thirty years, I do not care that he had sex, but I urge you to convince him to come forward if that is the case. If it was an accident with blood then there is nothing that anyone here can do to guess, but… "

A silence kicked in. Long lasting and shocking. Neither he nor Molls knew how to respond. The news was too far reaching. The implications and the tumbling of facts kept hitting more until a world involving his family, one he never knew existed, expanded outwards and beyond. Finally, like a stuttering hellie hex coming back to life after its tenth use, Molly spoke.

"And you told him this? He… Ronnie wouldn't lie about this, if he knows the consequences and he had sex, then he would have told."

"Fear of the truth has kept many good kids from saying it out loud," Poppy said wisely. Then she hesitated. "You know how long I've been doing this, Molly. I don't know for what reason, but I know he lied to me. I can see it in his eyes. He knows exactly who he contracted it from. This was no rough housing, I would bet my career as a Healer on it. Please, talk to him, if we don't find out who it was then I'll be forced to report the case to St. Mungo."

While the woman talked, Arthur couldn't get the image of his boy out of his head. Ron with the dark circles under his eyes, blue familiar eyes that wouldn't look at him. Guilty eyes as if he'd done something wrong. He remembered his own thoughts when he'd first walked in, about how unlike his boy that was. Ron was blunt and straightforward. Ron wasn't this. Whatever this was.

Beside him Molly seemed just as conflicted and torn. Wane from her emotions as they moved from indignant mother to severe parent to concerned mum to scared out of her mind, he could see the thoughts running rampant there, the question wracking her with motherly need to 'fix': _what is happening to her baby?_

The sound of their children broke the atmosphere.

"Poppy," Arthur said hurriedly, "if you could just test them and not tell them for what?"

She seemed to understand for she gave a sharp nod in response rather than questioning him further.

If there was one thing that would clamp Ron up and settle them into a long miserable fight against the impossible, it was trying to get Ron to open up about something his siblings were dead set on using against him. Perhaps they would be sensible enough not to do so in this situation, but he trusted them to be themselves, always, and so didn't trust them to know the situation at all. If one expected better than what had been shown in past then there was little surprise when that person was always disappointed. History was the best teacher.

"Ron?! What happened?" Ginny called, voice worried.

"Better question," George stated.

"Why aren't Harry and Hermione here?" Fred finished.

Arthur walked out of the office to find his children surrounding Ron much like bulldogs with a bone to catch. Ron was ignoring them, his head stuffed under a pillow as far as it would go. Feeling pity for the poor boy, Arthur walked up to his children and gestured for them to follow him into the office.

"What's going on dad?" Ginny demanded, glancing at her brother worriedly.

"Ron is very sick," Arthur told them. "We just want to make sure none of you have what he has."

George turned instantly suspicious, the boy was glancing between Ron and him with an intense look of concern.

"What sort of sickness has you coming all the way out here? Pomfrey can fix pretty much anything."

Fred, who'd remained by Ron's side and had been poking Ron's chest and muttering things to the younger brother, stood up straighter after hearing George and guiltily stopped his teasing.

"It's the kind of sickness where we're considering taking him out of school," Arthur told them. His children looked startled and he was unsurprised when Ginny rushed over and gripped Ron's hand. As much as the girl was prone to giving him a hard time, she did in fact, adore all her big brothers. "His immune system is shot and he can't fight it off. We're taking him home for the weekend at least, until we decide how to handle this, but we need to check you all out first."

George nodded, his face pale, and Arthur watched as he exchanged glances with Fred. A silent conversation. Decisions. Arguments. Choices. All being made without a gesture or a word. They were marching into the office and taking a seat on the bench for the Healer without making a fuss or complaining once as the woman looked them over.

Arthur would be lying if he said his heart didn't tighten as the spellwork ghosted over them. The tip of the wand turning blue as she hovered over their chests. She cleared them. Then she cleared Ginny.

The relief was immense. Despite getting back the results that they themselves were clean, there had still been a hard ball of fear in his stomach that this disease had somehow spread to them. That it was somehow their fault.

But Ron was the only one who'd contracted it.

He didn't want to think about the implications. But it wasn't too hard to imagine this being an accident. Ron had been involved in a number of terrible skirmishes and the chances, no matter what Poppy seemed to think, were much higher that Ron had accidentally traded blood with someone in a scuffle than the other alternative.

They stayed in the office, discussing the potions and the precautions they would need to take, for some time. It had turned from afternoon to evening before they knew it and Arthur felt about twenty years older for it.

Five years ago he would never have expected it, but Ron was turning out to be the most difficult of his children. Always unintentional, unlike his brothers, but always with the worst of consequences.

It reminded him of the night terrors the boy suffered from before coming to Hogwarts. They'd lasted for years with no solution in sight. No easy fix. It had worried the whole family to the point that even the twins had eased off of tormenting and teasing him.

His little boy had tried so hard to handle them, to be brave and to not worry the family, but the nightmares had been horrible. Every time Arthur thought that Ron was getting better, that the nightmares were finally starting to fade, they would begin again.

Thankfully they'd become almost none existent by the time he'd entered Hogwarts. But only just barely. The dark circles had taken a long time to disappear. Now Ron was known for sleeping in and it was such a beautiful thing. Now Ron was known for taking seconds at meals, and Arthur couldn't be more grateful. There was light teasing here and there, but the whole family was happy about it to the point that they rarely ever woke him up early and not even the twins teased Ron about going for seconds. They were _all_ far too grateful to be able to put it into words.

As he listened to the details and cringed along with his wife at the listed potions and requirements, it was to the thought that his little boy would once more not be getting any sleep, probably hadn't been for a while. The little boy who refused to eat, who couldn't sleep, who was a ragged imitation of his once energetic boy would be back in a teenage form. This time he wouldn't be able to scoop Ron up and hold him in his arms, but at least there was a solution. At least this they could fix. Long and hard, but fixable.

Arthur had never felt more useless than when he'd been able to do nothing for his little boy. When there had been no way to fix it because the problem was Ron himself. A little boy with a vivid imagination who'd been terrified by the stories his older brothers told him and had accidentally twisted it into nightmares that couldn't be gotten rid of.

Turning the boy's Teddy into a spider had been the start. Filling his head with stories of monsters crawling under his bed, dragging him off to his death, had been worse. Scaring him at every chance they got and going too far, playing one too many tricks on their baby brother. The twins had tried to make up for it, but it was too late, the damage was done.

Now…

When they filed out of the office with their magically expanded bag of vials and instructions, it was to see Ron sitting up, but with a half dazed expression on his face. He was leaning against George, his head on his brother's shoulder and curled up just the tiniest bit as if he were cold. Ginny sat in a chair beside the bed, anxiously ringing her hands as her eyes looped from the door to the bed to her brothers. Fred stood by the window, looking fixedly out, face pensive.

The scene both warmed him and unnerved him. They looked like they were waiting for 'that' kind of news. News of an illness that couldn't be undone. And if Poppy was right, if they'd waited any longer, if the illness had gone unnoticed for even a few more months… Ron could have died.

And he would have to explain that to his children.

Molly rushed past him, she was by Ron's side, scooping the boy's shoulders and torso into her arms and whispering something. Ron nodded into the embrace, his long limbs trying to cooperate with getting out of bed. Ginny helped him stand. Fred and George were doing the two step. Anxious to help, but there were too many hands already doing the only job available. His sons were action takers, incapable of standing in the background.

When Fred caught his eye, his son was by his side in two quick strides.

"So what is this, truly?" Fred asked, gesturing towards Ron. "I know you said his immune system was shot, but how did it get like that? What's the name of this thing? How did he catch it… how long has he had it?"

"It's been developing for a few years, apparently," Arthur informed him. "It shows few signs until the last stage."

"Last stage?" George called, walking up to him. "What happens at the last stage?"

"It was caught in time," Arthur back tracks, cringing away from telling them. "Ron is going to be fine. It's going to take a while, but he'll recover from this. He's going to be okay."

Now both his sons were eyeing him in weary suspicion, they'd caught the scent of being maneuvered away from an actual answer and not for the first time Arthur wished he were not so predictable.

"Caught in time?" Fred repeated, his lips curling downward. "Wait. Are you saying this can kill him?"

"Like I said," Arthur reassured them, "it was caught. Poppy… Madam Pomfrey has already administered Potions to stall it in its tracks. Ron isn't going to die. He's safe."

George and Fred exchanged those silent words again. Arthur wished he could hear them. What they were thinking, but the boys had always been a bit more clever than Arthur himself. Swift thinkers. Innovative.

"How close was this, dad?" George asked, his eyes glued on Ron.

He let himself sag, as he too took in his youngest boy.

"We were very lucky."

It should not surprise him that they ran into Harry and Hermione while leaving the school. Ron was leaning heavily against Fred, his arm around his shorter brother's shoulders while Fred had his own arm hooked around Ron's waist. George had a bag full of Ron's stuff. Ginny stood guiltily behind Harry and Hermione and it was clear from her ragged breaths that she'd run to fetch them. The pair were pale and when Ron caught sight of them, he missed a step, causing Fred to use both arms to catch him and hold him in place.

"What's wrong? Why are you leaving?" Harry blurted.

Ginny hadn't had time to explain things then.

"Ron's sick," Arthur tried for a reassuring smile, but it felt tight on his face. "He's coming with us for a little bit. He'll be back in a jiffy though. Don't you worry. It's just…" Arthur swallowed hard. "We're just going to keep him for the weekend to… discuss things."

He felt Molly glaring at him.

"He won't be back for a while," Molly huffed. "Don't lie to them, Arthur."

"But…" Hermione had lost all of her color, the girl's curly hair looking more unruly than usual as it fell into her face. "What's wrong? Do you need to go to St. Mungos?"

"No," Ron croaked. "No, its… I'll be back by Monday. It's fine. No biggie, you know? Pomfrey's gonna fix me up just fine. Mum and dad are just… being cautious."

"That's right," Arthur agreed. "It's all going to be fine. We just want to discuss some things is all."

Molly was trying to burn his back with her mothering fierceness and he knew this would be an awful argument. This was one argument that he wouldn't lose though. If it was Ginny or Fred or George or Percy, Arthur would take them out of school in a heartbeat. This was Ron though, and if Ron felt he was needed at the school then it would destroy him to be kept locked up in the hospital. His boy would stress out about it. Each day would be a struggle not just with the disease, but with anxiety.

Percy would suffer the hospital in annoyance and insist even while sick that it was a waste of his time and that he _needed_ to study. Fred or George would drive the healers at St. Mungos crazy with their rebellious antics. Ginny would complain and be miserable.

But Ron.

Ron would make himself sicker with anxiety. If he thought there was a chance that something could be happening to his best friend, Ron would stress out to the point that he would take action. Just as he'd done when he rescued Harry from the Dursley's with Arthur's enchanted car. Ron had paced back and forth, argued with them, bit at his nails until they bled, wrote letter after letter and finally had convinced Fred and George to steal the car.

What if Ron tried to leave St. Mungos while sick, to make sure Harry was alright?

His son was dangerously loyal, he wouldn't have blinked at the news if he'd been sorted into Hufflepuff instead of Gryffindor. Knowing his children the way he did, he knew that trying to get Ron to submit to the treatment would be not just futile, but possibly risky. He wouldn't risk Ron. He'd learned long ago to accept them for who they are. Otherwise you fight a useless battle that will be lost in the end.

Molly had never taken that lesson to heart though. The blow outs over Bill choosing to be a curse breaker, of Charlie practically running away to Romania for his dragons, the tentative, but firm plans the twins talked about with their joke shop… Percy had been the only one Molly hadn't blown up at and that was because Arthur himself had. He winced at the memory. Percy's back to him a current theme to his nightmares. The Ministry using his children to spy, the battle roaring up with as much backstabbing and cut throat tactics as the first war…

He wouldn't let this be another fallout between them and his children. Arthur stepped forward, sent his wife the 'not now' look they'd developed throughout the years, and patted Harry and Hermione's shoulder.

"No matter what, we will be back on Monday, you can talk to Ron then and he can tell you what's going on, alright?" Arthur coaxed.

Ron smiled his crooked half smile, a portion of his teeth showing even as he sagged against George.

"See? I'm gonna be fine, but if you're really worried about me, 'Mione, you can do my homework."

The girl shot him a small glare, but it was offset by the small smile on her face and the relief in her features.

"I'll let you look at my notes for the essays, but no more than that, Ronald."

Harry didn't look convinced though. In fact, he looked very lost and very young in that moment, wide eyed and silent. Then Ron did something that none of them expected, he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his prefect badge.

"Think you can manage helping Hermione out while I'm gone, mate?" Ron asked quietly.

At first, it looked as if Harry would say no, the boy stood stock still and stared at Ron as if he'd been struck. Then stiffly, he nodded, and took the badge from Ron's hand. Arthur cleared his throat, looking between his children and the boy they'd practically adopted into the family before turning to Hermione. His mind going back to the conversation in the office.

"Hermione," Arthur called out, hesitantly, the girl's eyes were suspiciously bright as she turned to him. "Madam Pomfrey is going to be testing all the students. She mentioned wanting to test you and Harry first since the illness is contagious."

Arthur added Harry's name as an afterthought. Hoping to stall any scenario where they would jump to conclusions. Ron glanced at him, his mouth opening and closing at what Arthur had just said, already knowing what Arthur suspected. Ron shook his head, looking almost angry, but more embarrassed than anything, his features turning bright red.

Molly too stared at him, but in approval at his handling of the situation.

Hermione and Harry exchanged glances, but unlike the twins, Arthur easily read the questions and unease between them. They nodded and despite the 'contagious' part of his speech, they both hugged Ron before leaving, whispering something in his ear.

"I'll see you soon," Ron had told them both. "I'll make sure to say hello to Snuffles for you, Harry."

Harry swallowed and nodded.


	8. Chapter 7 Unspoken

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

* * *

Chapter 7: Unspoken

Despite all the promises Arthur made to himself and his family, Arthur woke to the sound of screaming. Voices the tender ache and crack of long use and harried nerves sounding very much like his youngest son and wife. Volatile tempers already in full swing at…

Arthur groaned.

Six-thirty in the morning on a Saturday.

He forced himself up and out of bed, awake enough to remember why he needed to be down there instead of up here. He should have known this couldn't be a civil conversation. Bill was his only child capable of civil conversations.

He could only hope that all the screaming did not wake Sirius up, their stay in the Order of the Phoenix Headquarters often forgotten as also being Sirius home. One given willingly and out of the kindness of Sirius's heart, Arthur might add.

"…anyone if you're dead!?" Molly shrieked.

"It's not a death sentence! I'm not slitting my wrists, Mum! I'm not throwing myself off the astronomy tower! I'm going to school! It's not like I'm playing quidditch or anything! I'm gonna be sitting on my arse, taking notes!"

"Don't you swear at me, boy!"

Ron had been demoted to boy. They must have been out here for a while.

"Bloody. Fucking. School. That's it!"

Damn.

Arthur charged into the room, taking one look at his wife, who'd lost all color in her fury, and grabbed ahold of Ron standing before the table with a defiant rage radiating off of him. He pulled his son out of the kitchen, surprising all parties.

"Right!" Arthur snapped. "That's quite enough of that. Up to the room. Now!"

"I'm not going to the hospital!" Ron proclaimed, one last shot at his mother before Arthur physically dragged him down the hall. Ron slumped against him and in a bitter tone his son had been taking more and more to the last few years told him. "She doesn't understand. She's not even willing to think about it at all. I can't do this dad. It's not just Percy they've gotten to, its… they're in Hogwarts too, dad. I can't let Harry face that alone."

"He's hardly alone," Arthur muttered, still tugging at his son despite the fact that Ron was willingly following him now.

"Hermione doesn't count. I mean, she does, but she doesn't. She's not very good with dealing with people. Give a subject, any subject, and she'll blow your mind, but she's not good with knowing how to…" Ron made a vague gesture. "Look, dad, I know what you're thinking."

"Do you now?" Arthur asked, and despite himself he was amused.

"I was rude to mom and that's not acceptable and there's lots of people to be there for Harry at Hogwarts so I'm just being over dramatic and a month isn't really that long…" Ron trailed off, catching his breath, reminding Arthur in that moment why he was here instead of at school. Ron took a second to collect himself and Arthur was shocked when he ended up holding much of Ron's weight along with the wall.

"I'm fine. Sorry. Everybody thinks Harry's this…" Ron gestured again, never to be one good with words, especially when stressed or excited. "He's not. He's really not and no one really knows how to handle that. I'm not gonna be able to stand being locked up away when everything's going to shi… when everything's going downhill, you know? I can't stay, dad. I need to go back."

"I'll talk to your mother," Arthur promised, making sure to keep his hand around Ron's waist as they walked up the stairs. Ron was breathing hard and had his palm flat against the wall as they moved. "Did she give you the potions?"

Ron nodded, more weary now.

"Get some sleep then."

Ron didn't argue and perhaps that was more worrisome than anything thus far. He watched his youngest son curl up on the bed, not bothering to grab any of the blankets or cover himself in any way. Arthur sighed, grabbing one of the blankets off of Harry's bed and throwing it over Ron. He was already out like a light, dark circles under his eyes showing painfully obvious in the small light o the candle by the guest bed Ron slept in.

Arthur blew it out before going downstairs to face Molly.

"That _boy_." Molly banged her fist on the kitchen table. Arthur winced, reminding her of Sirius up in the Master bedroom and Mundungus, who'd just come in from a mission, passed out in one of the lower bedrooms. Molly was unrepentant.

"I cannot believe he's acting up this way," Molly continued, only lowering her voice by a fraction. "He's never argued with me like this, Arthur, never. Now he's acting like… like… well, like Charlie or Ginny or the twins! This is your fault, Arthur, how could let him think he had a chance of going back to Hogwarts?"

They'd briefly talked before going to bed but had decided to wait until today to truly get into it. Apparently today, meant before the sun rose. It was obvious to him now that Molly had probably been up long before Ron needed dosages and had worked herself into a tizzy before confronting Ron the moment he'd woken up.

Arthur poured himself a cup of coffee, noting with alarm that most of the pot was already gone. It was rare for his wife to make the strong stuff Sirius and Remus preferred to her black tea. He added a generous dose of cream and sugar, inhaling a few sips and allowing the liquid to burn down his throat before giving his wife an answer.

"Molly, dear, you're right. Ron isn't the kind to argue like this. He usually assumes you'll disagree with him and does it anyways. The last couple of years he's stolen the car twice to help Harry, he's gone down into the Chamber of Secrets where a Basilisk resided to save his sister, he's broken into the third door chambers to help Harry 'save the sorcerers stone' so please, tell me, Molly, what will he do if he thinks Harry needs help while he's in the hospital? Do you believe that he'll just stay there, do what he's told or argue with you about going back? No, Molls, no he will not. He will leave without telling either of us, no matter what potions he's on, no matter how sick or exhausted he is, and he will probably harm himself in ways he can't imagine in order to accomplish what he's set out to do."

He took another long drag of his coffee before looking at his wife. She'd sat down, tears glittering at the corner of her eyes, but refusing to let them fall. She was clutching her own empty cup of coffee with a lost look on her face.

"Then we'll just have to strap him down then. We can't allow him to run off like that. He needs to get better, Arthur. This isn't the case of the sniffles, his life is on the line. Getting him better as fast as possible should be how we handle this. It's the responsible and reasonable means."

"This isn't about how we prefer to handle the situation, but knowing how Ron will handle the situation," Arthur continued. "The slow way of getting better may also be the more painful way for us, but it ensures that Ron is where he feels he needs to be. Ron thinks he'll be taking care of Harry, but do you think, for even a minute, that now that everyone is aware of what's going on that Harry or Hermione will let Ron overdo himself? They'll watch after him and help him in anything he needs. They'll protect him like they always have. Fred, George and Ginny will be there too. They may give Ron a hard time, but they won't let anyone harm their brother. They'll watch out for him, Molls. Ron will be appeased and won't try to escape and in return there will be more watchful eyes on him than even St. Mungo's could or would drag up for us."

"A bunch of children watching out for a sick child? I think not," Molly dismissed.

"They're hardly children anymore, Molls," Arthur said tiredly. "Even Ginny is fourteen now, in her fourth year of Hogwarts. Fred and George are of age and they'll graduating this year. A miracle in itself really, I pegged them to drop out after their 17th birthday last year."

"Don't even joke about that."

"Knowing your children-"

"-means always being prepared for them," Molly finished, giving him a chaste kiss. "I know. I know. I wasn't prepared for this though Arthur, I know my son, and this… I wasn't prepared for this from him."

Arthur grimaced. He hadn't been prepared either.

"Sex, Arthur? Godric, I never imagined he'd go so far with Hermione so quickly, I'm so angry with them."

"We don't know it was Hermione, Molls," Arthur said quietly. It had been something he'd been thinking about all night. The more he'd thought about it, the more he'd felt unsettled by it all. This didn't feel right. Like a huge chunk was missing.

"Who else could it be?" Molly demanded, gesturing towards the stairs where Ron had disappeared. "Ronnie hasn't liked anybody else. He's carried a torch for that girl for a while."

"That's just it," Arthur said quietly, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. "Poppy said this was a long time coming. That it takes 2-10 years to show any signs of the disease. Do you really believe, even with the best estimates, that she and Ron had sex in their second or third year? It's one thing for our fifteen-year-old son to start experimenting with sexual things, but at twelve or thirteen or younger?"

Molly had gone white in the face, her hand covering her mouth and he knew that she understood what he was implying.

"You can tell, can't you?" His voice broke as he asked. "Ron's refusal to say who it was even knowing the person's life is in danger? How closed off and… and broken he is about all of this? He isn't even concerned about how sick he is, did you notice? He's more concerned that we know he had sex. He doesn't want anyone to know a single thing about what happened. This isn't a teenager whose been caught having sex, Molls, and I think Poppy knows that too. Its why she didn't push too hard and why she urged us to talk with him."

Molly sniffled and shook her head in denial.

"No, no, no, that's… I would know." The tears were coming hard and fast and Arthur dragged her to him, rubbing her back as she clutched at him. "I would know if my baby was…"

She didn't say the word. He didn't either. It felt too much like a curse. As if saying the word would make it real. Arthur would talk to Ron first and try to get the truth out o him. He would try to ease into the topic and see if there hadn't just been something less malicious and heinous behind this.

Perhaps an older teenage girl had offered to have fun with him and Ron, in traditional preteen curiosity for all things adult, had gone along with it. It wasn't ideal. It was preferable though, to what his mind was gently providing. Or maybe Ron wasn't interested in girls at all and all this fear and anxiety and pain in his eyes was from what he thought they might think of him if they found out. That would be so much easier to deal with and to reassure than the darker side of things. No matter what it was though, they'd help him through it.

"I'll speak to him later today, when he's awake and more aware," Arthur told her as softly as he could. "We'll find out what's happened and no matter what it is, we'll get through it just fine together."

She nodded and Arthur hoped that his words were true and that it would be as simple as that, though he knew better.

* * *

Sirius snuck into the room and plopped down hard on the end of the bed. The body moaned and Sirius grinned down at it as blue eyes blinked at him with a partial scowl before dragging itself upwards.

"I hear you don't need the explanation of the Golden Snidget and flitterbys," Sirius teased. Ron took one look at his face and buried himself beneath the blankets once more. "Oh, don't be like that! It's a glorious moment when a boy discovers all the lovely layers of a girl."

"Sirius, please shut up," Ron growled.

"Young Harry is creating Defense clubs bent on breaking laws and, meanwhile, under the cover of night, our very own Ronald is becoming a man."

Ron shot up and sent him a dark look.

"You really don't know what you're talking about. Drop it, okay? It's not funny."

"Hey, its okay, so you had some fun with a not so clean person. Happens to the best of us," Sirius shrugged, trying to stop his lips from twitching into a smile. "Hard lesson to learn, but it's good that you learned now."

Ron sighed, looking away from him pensively in that dramatic teenage way he'd become accustomed to since coming into Harry's life again two years ago.

"Sex isn't as dramatic or rule breaking as everybody makes it out to be," Sirius reassured him. "It's a natural thing. Beautiful."

"Will you shut up?" Ron hissed.

Taken aback, he looked at Ron again. He was breathing hard. A noticeable tremble to him as he seemed to scrub at his arms and looked around as if he were lost. As if he had nowhere to go. All the fun in teasing him evaporated.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Ron, sure, a little more responsibility is warranted, but this isn't the end of the world. You'll get better and this will just be a nasty lesson in the end," Sirius tried more gently.

"I don't want to talk about this. I'm… going to go feed Buckbeak," Ron said decisively, practically running from the room.

"Huh." Sirius made his way down to the kitchens where Arthur was filling out papers, looking about as on edge as his youngest son. He poured himself some coffee, took a swig, then grimaced and poured it down the sink, setting the pot to make more while he rummaged around in the fridge for something edible to eat.

"So," he started casually, taking the seat by Arthur's side. "Is it just me or does our dear beloved Ronald seem a bit more at arms than what the situation calls for?"

Arthur grimaced, looking up at him over his glasses with a look that said he'd been up all night and didn't appreciate talking about this _again_ so soon. He didn't have to imagine how true that was, as he'd heard the two heatedly talking early that morning and had tried not to listen in despite how very hard they made that to be.

"Please tell me that you haven't been up there harassing him?" Arthur asked, more tired than angry.

Sirius took a good look at Arthur, trying to figure out what he wasn't being told. It was clear now that the situation was a great deal worse than he'd original thought; simple fooling around at an age that was a bit too young to be doing so. For now, he ignored the question in favor of more productive directions.

"So, what's the game plan? Is Ron staying in St. Mungo's and basing here, or is he going back to Hogwarts?"

"Hogwarts," Arthur said stiffly and it was so unlike him that Sirius felt rather uncomfortable all of a sudden.

"Awe, I see, she didn't take it well then."

"No. I still need to speak to Ron about some things."

"He seems pretty anxious about it," Sirius said carefully, trying to gauge how the Weasley's were taking this news. He had a hard time seeing the large family of seven children being prudes, but perhaps they were upset about the terrible repercussions it had caused for Ron. _That_ he could see of Molly and Arthur. They were very protective of their children, even Harry, which he appreciated to no end.

Arthur waved his hand in a dismissal manner.

"It's not the sex that's got him upset. At least, I don't think it is, not in the way you think anyways," Arthur mumbled.

"Then what…?"

"I think its best not to speak about it right now," Arthur deflected. "I need to get up there, anyhow. I can't procrastinate any more, he needs to take the droughts Poppy gave us."

Sirius eyed the three bright droughts on the kitchen counter.

"I could always give you a moment more to think of your strategy of approach." He winked, gesturing to the bottles. "I'll take them up to the room." Arthur looked grateful, but mostly suspicious.

"Don't harass him, Sirius, please. He's…"

"I won't."

He wracked his brain trying to figure out what could possibly be the big secret and his mind lingered on an option that left him moving a little faster. The idea played out into a full-blown scenario and by time he got up to the room and was throwing the door open all thoughts of Arthur asking him not to upset Ron had fled.

Ron had a cup of water halfway to his lips, still dressed in his sweats and t-shirt and not looking to get changed any time soon. He jerked when Sirius stormed into the room, finger pointing directly at his chest.

"Did you have sex with Harry?"

The cup of water dropped onto the floor as Ron openly gapped at him.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Ron snapped. "What the actual fuck… get out!"

"No, I mean, are you sure?" Sirius squinted at him, only to be hit in the face with a boot. He set the droughts down quickly and closed the door behind him. "Take the droughts!"

Sirius added after a moment.

"I wouldn't blame you! He's a very handsome young man!"

In answer, the second boot hit the door right where Sirius's face was positioned.

Arthur buried his head in his hands as he heard Ron's furious shouts from upstairs. Sirius Black could not be trusted to be serious.

* * *

Ron's stay at 12 Grimmauld place went as smoothly as Arthur could have expected. Molly sniffled the whole day, surprising both Ron and himself with quick embraces and brief kisses. Ron walked around like a kicked dog, expecting to be hit at any moment. Mundungos made himself scarce the moment he woke up from one of the upper rooms and Sirius seemed torn between exasperation and curiosity.

The idea of sexual assault, Arthur had learned over the years, was something that woman thought about all the time and something that men never did. Not that men didn't experience it, but more like, it was rarer, and more often than not, men were the perpetuators of such acts. He'd come to this realization one evening at Hogwarts while listening to Molly speaking with a few friends. A girl named Karen had gotten a date with a guy a few years older than her and her friends were concerned.

Concerned!

By a date. It had left him flabbergasted. He'd asked Molly about it later and she'd quietly explained that woman had to consider the darker side of things all the time. Sure the date could go well, but what if it didn't? What if he didn't take no for an answer? What if he was pushy about wanting 'more?' Was he bigger than her? Could she stop him if he tried anything? Would the date put them in a location that was isolated or public? Did she have the money to pay for everything if things went sour? Would he be aggressive or okay if she decided to go home early?

It had horrified him.

'Did you consider those thoughts with me?" he'd demanded, feeling sick.

'I consider them for everyone male I first meet," Molly had told him gently. 'Because otherwise its partly my fault if something happens.'

'That's not true at all.'

'It's what everyone will tell you if you're going into a situation expecting the best,' Molly had corrected him sternly. 'If something happens then the answer you get is, 'of course all he wanted was sex, how could you think otherwise? It was obvious. You led him on.'

He found himself unsurprised that Sirius hadn't considered the darker avenue of it yet. That the reason Ron was so shaken and quiet wasn't because his medical records had revealed he'd contracted a disease, but that he'd been raped.

Arthur mentally flinched at the word.

He did not want to have this conversation with his son, yet as the day wore on he found himself wandering up the stairs of the Order of the Phoenix headquarters to the little nook of the library that Ron had hidden himself in. He had a Quidditch magazine on his lap when Arthur opened the door and his son grimaced at him when he was spotted, folding it up and making room for him on the Ottoman.

"I'm not so scary, am I?" Arthur tried to joke.

Ron didn't respond, didn't even look at him. Arthur nudged him gently, trying to let him know that the world wasn't ending and Arthur certainly didn't plan on ending it. When Ron stayed stiff and unmoving, he sighed.

"Ron, I'm going to need you to be honest with me even if you don't want to be, can you do that for me?"

"I'm not a kid, dad," Ron snapped. "I know I need to tell Pomfrey. I will tell her, as soon as we get back on Monday."

He felt relief that at least one problem was out of the way, but pushed it away as he realized Ron closing himself off from him. He was throwing up some pretty hefty walls and Arthur knew he wasn't the best at this kind of thing.

"No matter what happened, we aren't going to abandon you, you know that don't you?" Ron looked away from him, his hands bunching up his sweats. Arthur swallowed, trying to get the words he'd been rehearsing in his head to come out as smoothly. "Ron, I… I need to ask, the medical diagnostic spell can't tell us this, was it consensual?"

Stiffly, without looking at him, Ron slowly shook his head.

Arthur felt the floor fall out from under him and had to grab at the ottoman even though it was the answer he'd been expecting. He reached forward to put his hand on Ron's knee, but his son had pulled away from him and was now standing, jerking as he leaned against the window and refused to look in his direction at all.

"We don't have to talk about this," Ron said, but his tone was pleading. "It happened a long time ago. I don't think about it. It doesn't affect me."

' _It clearly has.'_

He didn't say as much.

He was trying to remember when anyone had the opportunity to hurt his little boy in such a way. If it had been a trip to Diagone Alley. If it had been while Ron was away at Hogwarts. If it was a relative or a stranger or a close friend of the family. _Who_ had hurt his boy? _When_ had this happened?

It had always been hard to keep track of so many children. There had been more than one occasion when one of them disappeared into the crowd and he spent panicked time looking for them. A few minutes. A half hour. Once even two and a half hours. Something this despicable could have easily happened in such a short time. That was what made the crime so much worse was how quickly it could tear apart someone's world.

"You and I don't have to talk about it, no," Arthur relented. "But you need to talk about it with someone. A mind healer, a friend, one of your family… I don't care who you speak to, but you do need to speak about it with someone."

"I've handled it fine until now. You wouldn't even know if…"

Arthur buried his head in his hands- _if Ron hadn't been diagnosed with a sexually transmitted disease._

"That's another thing we have to talk about," Arthur said quietly. Ron looked at him and it was like a frightened animal was standing before him instead of his son. Like he expected the worst of him. "Why did you keep silent all this time?"

Ron fidgeted under his gaze, giving him a blank stare.

"I didn't… keep silent that is," he finally said after a long moment. "I was just too young to understand what was happening and I… I didn't explain it very well." Ron pinched the bridge of his nose. "When I was finally old enough to understand what had happened…" Ron shrugged. "I no longer wanted anyone to know."

Arthur choked on his words then tried again.

"And… how old were you when…?"

Ron shook his head.

"I don't think I…" Ron shrugged. Swallowed. "I can't do this yet. I never thought… I didn't think this was ever going to come up again. I don't know how…"

"It's okay," Arthur rushed forward, ignoring the way Ron flinched when he pulled him into his arms. "I'll wait as long as it takes. You don't have to… Godric, we're both terrible at this aren't we?"

Ron chuckled wetly against him, finally leaning into him.

"I don't want anyone to know. No one will look at me the same."

Arthur stroked Ron's back trying to soothe away all the things his son was no doubt thinking about right now. All the things the person had taken from him. All the nightmares it had no doubt cause… Arthur's breath hitched.

Nightmares. Night terrors.

Arthur hugged Ron tightly against him, closing his eyes.

 _The Boogeyman said something that really, really hurt._

 _I don't think the Boogeyman's a person, dad, he's a monster._

 _I didn't see anyone on a walk, dad._

 _I'm telling you the truth! Why won't you believe me?!_

 _I hate you! I hate you! He's real and none of you…._

"Ron," Arthur said carefully, trying to keep his voice from cracking. "The person who hurt you in this way… was it… was it the monster you talked about as a child? The Boogeyman?"

Ron tensed in his arms, pulling away so harshly that Arthur nearly fell. There was such anger and betrayal and _hurt_ lining his face that Arthur knew he'd hit on the truth.

"Ron…" But Ron was backing away from him and for the first time since this situation was brought to his attention days ago, he finally understood why. "Ron, please…"

But Ron was at the end of what he could take of the conversation and was backing out of the room, stumbling over his own feet in his haste to get as far away from Arthur as he possibly could. Ron fled into the depths of 12 Grimmauld Place.


	9. Chapter 8: Speak

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

Warnings: Mature Content Ahead. As I've stated before, monsters are born in small steps: Justifications. Denial. Compromises. Acceptance. Step by step, until the person at the beginning wouldn't recognize the person at the end. My biggest problem with Voldemort was that he was born out of a love potion and was never quite human because of it. He was a monster in the beginning and the end. That's why characters like Umbridge and Wormtail are so delightful in their horror. They truly are human. Flawed and twisted in a sickening way and that's what makes them so much worse than Voldemort because they truly believe they aren't the bad guys.

* * *

Chapter 8: Speak

Arthur eventually found his son half frozen in the October air, on top of the roof, looking down at the garden in the back of 12 Grimmauld Place. He pulled his own jacket off and draped it over his son's chilled skin, the shoulders stiff under his touch, giving them a gentle squeeze as he stepped away.

"Don't tell mum," Ron begged him, still leaning too far over the edge for Arthur's liking.

"You know I can't keep this from her."

They stood in silence for a long moment. Arthur could see their breaths in front of them and without his jacket the air felt like it was slicing at him. He stayed though, because Ron made no move to go inside.

"I'll tell her," Ron eventually relented, "but can it wait until Christmas break? I just… I need time."

He considered it. It was late October which would give Ron a little more than a month to adjust to the idea of people knowing, truly, about what had happened. Arthur gave a sharp nod, aware that he was betraying the trust of his wife a little bit in this moment, but knowing that Ron needed this.

"Who was it, Ron? Who was the Boogeyman to you?"

Ron shuddered, looking sick and reluctant. They both stood on the frost covered roof for a long time. Arthur refusing to force Ron to speak and Ron trying to drag up the courage to make words of something he never thought he would have to. His son dragged his fingers roughly through his hair, his fingers lingering long enough that Arthur feared he might start to tug his hair out from anxiety like he used to do as a little boy.

"Bollocks. I keep trying to figure out a way not to tell you," Ron confessed in frustration. "I've been trying to figure out a way to lie to you about who it was, but there's no way without it blowing up in my face. I can't lie without it hurting someone else."

"Lies have a tendency to come back to bite you," Arthur cautioned lightly.

Ron laughed, it was harsh and edged with terror.

"Nah, there's plenty of times when lying is the better way out, this just isn't one of them," Ron muttered, then he turned to Arthur and looked him in the eye. There was genuine fear there, but also concern. "Would you feel better if I told someone else? Nothing that happened was your guy's fault. You don't have to play confidante here. I can… you can leave. I'll figure this shi… I'll get my head on straight and stuff. Talk to a Mind Healer or what not, whoever your supposed to talk about this stuff with."

Ron looked about ready to crumble to pieces he was shaking so hard.

"No matter what, I'm right here, to hear you or hug you or whatever else it is that you need. I'm here," Arthur told him.

"Its all pretty beastly," Ron warned quietly.

"I'm rubbish at this sort of stuff, serious conversations and such," Arthur told him, just as softly, as if he feared speaking too loudly would break Ron's willingness to tell the truth. "But I have always been a great listener. I'm not going anywhere, Ronnie."

"The Boogeyman," Ron paused, grimaced, continued, "he was in our house for years, disguised as a rat."

Arthur's heart stuttered to a halt.

"Peter Pettigrew," Arthur's voice cracked in horror.

"I had no idea he was even human until the night in the shack when Lupin and Sirius went after him," Ron whispered. "When he was forced to transform…"

Ron's breath hitched and he stopped speaking. Arthur grabbed Ron and pulled him into his arms again, rocking him back and forth as he sobbed. Ron's legs gave out and Arthur found himself bundling his son into his arms on the roof of Grimmauld place.

' _Please, not the whole time,'_ Arthur begged silently. _'Not the whole time.'_

Peter Pettigrew had played a pet rat for years inside their home. He and Molly had been horrified to learn that a grown man- a death eater, had been hiding inside of their home for over a decade.

Upon learning of what Scabbers was at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, they'd questioned their children, of course, but they'd each told Arthur and Molly that they had no idea. When Ron had been questioned, as the one who'd been carrying that thing around as a pet, Ron had given him a look.

'Oh yeah, I saw a man lurking around the house and just thought he was the gardener looking for a glass of lemonade,' Ron had quipped. 'No, dad, I didn't see or hear or notice anything.'

By then Ron had known for a year the true identity of the Boogeyman. Had probably practiced that casual line over and over until it ran smooth with no cracks or hesitation. He should have noticed. All of his other children had paused and thought and considered once they learned the truth.

'I don't think so,' Fred had said uneasily, 'but I never looked, you know? It was just a rat.'

Arthur had understood because he'd felt the same way. Peter Pettigrew had never acted like anything other than a rat. And sometimes when Arthur sat for hours thinking about it, his mind started to play tricks on him, making monsters our of little things. Had Scabbers been sleeping innocently, curled up in a blanket while he and Molly teased and flirted beside the fire, or had he been watching them, listening in for something to use against them? Had Wormtail been hanging out on the kitchen's shelf because rat treats were kept there or because he had darker intentions? Had Peter truly just been hiding or had he been waiting for an opportunity of some sort? If he let himself, Arthur could spend days falling deeper and deeper into such terrible thoughts.

'I talked to him all the time," Percy had admitted shakily. 'It was easy, he was just a pet and couldn't say anything to anyone. Dad, I told him _everything_ about me.'

And what could Arthur say to that? Because a Death Eater intimately knew one of his children for a good majority of his childhood. How could he reassure Percy that nothing bad would come of it? How could he apologize enough for not knowing?

Ginny had hesitated and in moments he and Molly had sat her down and informed her of the situation. She had been shaken and horrified, but not entirely surprised. Arthur had nearly lost all of his composure in those few moments of quiet.

'His eyes were always so… creepy. I put him outside once and closed the door. I hoped he'd wander off and never come back only… he reappeared in the living room the next day.'

There had been mingling alarm and relief. All in all it had seemed as is if they'd dodged a large, terrifying spell. A deranged murderer had been in their midst for years, watching them and had somehow, someway, the man had been content to simply exist in their presence. Hidden.

Arthur had been naïve to feel such relief. He should have known better. He should have pushed further. Godric's bleeding ulcers, what if Ron hadn't been diagnosed with this horrible disease?

Arthur knew his son. Ron would never have spoken a word about this if he wasn't forced to. He would have kept it locked up and it would have festered in his head. Rape was… how would Ron handle sex from here on out? Intimacy? Love? He and Molly had a chance to help Ron now. To get him the help he needed if it was necessary, but what if they'd never known? He felt sickened by the very thought.

And what if rape wasn't all that had been done? Arthur rubbed his hand along Ron's shaking back, not sure where the cold of the night ended and the cold spreading from his heart began.

Arthur closed his eyes, trying to remember when the nightmares first started as he rode out Ron's sobs, stroking his son's hair in a calming motion as he himself fell further and further into shock.

The first nightmares… the first time had happened when Ron was six.

* * *

After a while of being trapped in a certain form, one learns to adjust. The need, the want, to revert back into a human eventually subsides to be replaced with a certain level of contentment. Every so often though… the urge to turn comes so strong, and so sudden, he had a difficult time restraining himself from jumping up and transforming right then and there. Be it in the middle of a Weasley family dinner or the solitude of the attic.

It was one night, after a rough week of being thrown about like a ragdoll by the twins, that he'd felt the deep need to stretch his limbs.

His human limbs that is.

He was aware he was suffering a severe case of disassociation.

Like he was everywhere and nowhere. In the body of a rat and outside of that, watching from afar. His urge was probably near the same level of need that the moon inspired in Lupin's wolf self to transform. It would happen, no matter how much Peter fought it. So instead he sought to control the need. To only transform back in the safety of isolation.

He wanted, for the briefest of moments, to feel free and be himself again. To feel his skin, rather than the bristle of fur. To feel his eyes close together instead of on either side of his head. To be able to touch his fingers without jagged nails meeting one another. To hear his own voice, something he'd forgotten in the endless time span of his own self imprisonment.

That was how Peter ended up scurrying to the attic, following the sounds of the ghoul, before racing out from under something large. Once inside his little body shivered in anticipation. His bones began to shift, to crack and groan as they loosened and grew. The hairs along his back withdrew into the pores, his nose shortened, and his tail began to slink back to shorten his spine.

Transforming felt a little like popping ones joints, every one of them, all at once. A trace of pain, but also satisfaction. It was a sensation where you knew everything was moving into its natural place. Not entirely pleasant, but wholly filling.

Peter moved his jaw about experimentally as he stood on two very human legs. He'd gained weight, he could tell, but the folds that had developed since his last transformation. Most likely due to his sedate life. Lazing about, being fed scraps and morsels of food all the time, never having a job or a task to do. He tested it out, the new weight, finding his balance only a little off. His feet hitting the floor a little harder than normal.

Then a sound filled the air that sent every hair he had on end.

A small gasp.

A small child's gasp.

He turned, eyes widening at his mistake. Oh no. No, no, no. This was not happening. But it was. It was and it was all over. No, it was all over. His very body moaned in terror.

Staring back at him were two bright blue eyes. The sudden, horrifying realization that rather than the attic, he'd gone one room before it. Into the boy's room, Ronald's room, who sat in maroon pajama's two sizes too large. A patch covering one knee. The collar sliding down to reveal a shoulder and rumbled hair from woken sleep.

It was the clothes on the boy that made him more aware of his own lack of clothing. He was bare naked in a child's room. The terrified blue eyes blinked, mouth opening to scream, but before he could, before the child could alert the household to his presence… Peter struck. He was faster. Oh, yes, he was faster and bigger.

His hand shot out to cover the mouth, gripping so tightly around the boy's jaw that he knew bruises would be left. He silently cursed. This was bad. Bad, bad, bad. Oh Merlin, oh dear, how could he fix this?

He'd have to leave, the boy had seen him transform! No, no… he liked it here. He liked this family. They took very good care of him. He'd been a good pet. He hadn't ever hurt any of them, not even a bite when the children got rough with him! Not even those nasty twins.

Maybe he could still salvage this. Kill the boy and no one would be the wiser. It was a good idea. Who would suspect the rat of all things!?

Little hands tugged at his own, much larger hand. Peter looked down to see warm tears streaming from blue eyes. The tears fell across the back of his fingers. He moved his other hand around the boy's little throat, feeling the pulse of the boy's life. A steady heartbeat. He just needed to snap it. It would only hurt him for a second. After all he wasn't a cruel person, just scared, just frightened. He was a good person, but he had no choice. He'd never had a choice!

Peter was always forced to make the hard choices.

The hands were more desperate now, he felt wet warmth in his palm as the boy tried to bite him. Fingernails dug deep into his arm. The little six-year-old pulled and tugged and fought. It was a bit amusing, really. So little Ronnie was a fighter. Not much of a surprise. The Weasley's were well known for their rambunctious attitude. They reminded him of Sirius.

A foot struck out and slammed into his stomach. He winced, pulling the boy up and away from himself. Standing and lifting the little redhead off the bed by his neck. He let go of the boy's jaw, closing off the boy's windpipe so he couldn't scream.

"Don't…" Ronald's voice whimpered out. "…Mr. Boogeyman, please."

Peter's hand loosened slightly.

What? Boogey… man? He chuckled to himself. The laugh coming out rusty and haunting from lack of use. Of course, the twins- little monstrosities that they were. They'd taunted the boy about the man who lives under the bed for months. He glanced at the large object he'd been under just before his transformation. The bed. The long length of time he'd been transformed had dulled his ability to recognize even the most basic of objects.

Boogeyman. The darkness under the mattress that haunted children all around the world. How… convenient. What was that ridiculous song the brats sang?

"I've come for you, your bones and skin…" he paused, feeling the body shake beneath his fingers. "There's truly no way for you to win." Peter lowered the boy so his feet only barely touched the ground.

He'd have to make this good.

Peter had always been great at pranks. Especially those pranks that were set on humiliating others. Like Severus. He could pull this off. Terrify the child into not talking about it. Make it seem like he had a nightmare about the 'boogeyman' so if he did talk… no one would believe him.

"You'll fall and crawl away my boy." His throat ached, voice coming out rasping from lack of use, but it was almost funny to see the pure terror in the boy's eyes. The desperation. It made Peter feel powerful. There weren't a lot of things in his control, but this, the boy, the situation. They were at his mercy. "But remember, you'll always be my toy."

It was better than killing him, at least.

Peter slammed the boy's head against the wall. A loud crack sounded, making him cringe. The boy cried out, the sound escaping more like a croak because of the grip he still had on his throat. He frowned, staring the boy down. Dazed eyes blinked back, fingers still struggling for release. The brat was more durable than he thought.

He'd meant to knock the boy unconscious with one swift hit. It wasn't like either of them had a wand. Godric's groin, this was irritating. What was the other part of that rhyme?

"From the darkness underneath, from beneath the bed I shall reap." He leaned forward, allowing his greasy, unwashed hair to fall onto the boy's shoulder to whisper in his ear. "Always watching… always waiting for little ones to sleep." He tightened his hold on the boy's neck until he couldn't breathe. The boy gasped and shuddered and cried, but he wouldn't let up. It was only when the hand, tightly pulling against his in a futile bid of escape, let go. When it sagged against the wall in a lifeless fashion.

He lowered the redhead to the floor, checking his pulse to make sure he hadn't accidentally killed him. It was a little weak under his fingers, but still there. He picked the boy up, laying him in the bed, even pulling the covers over him.

Even in the darkness he could see the darkening skin around the boy's neck and face. He cursed quietly, debating his options. There were several wands in the house. His best bet were the youngest, Bill and Charlie, rather than Molly or Arthur. He needed to get rid of the evidence.

Sneaking down the halls he decided Bill was the better bet since Charlie was such a light sleeper. The door creaked open, causing him to cringe. He transformed back into a rat to enter the room, not liking the idea of a repeat of earlier. Bill kept his on the top shelf behind his textbooks while he slept. Years of living in fear of the twin's curiosity having taught him caution.

He gripped the large wooden piece in his mouth before scurrying out of the room. While his awareness of things were distorted in his rat form he still had a remarkable memory, unlike Sirius. Heading back upstairs, he felt immense relief. He hadn't wanted to leave, but he hadn't wanted to kill the child either.

Turning from beast to man, Wormtail spit the wand out as he entered the room. He grimaced as he caught sight of red against the boy's pillow. Apparently, he'd slammed the kid harder than he'd first thought. That would be first.

He healed all of it. The cracked skull. The bruising. He considered for a moment simply wiping the child's mind of the memory altogether. Erasing the mistake he had made and slinking off to pretend to be a rat once more. Only more cautious.

Something stopped him though.

He'd enjoyed the terror on the boy's face and Ronald was the first person to have seen him in four years. It was already nicely set up. What if, sometime in the future, he wanted to talk to someone? He wouldn't be able to have a normal conversation, of course, but he missed conversing with humans rather than just listening to them.

What could it hurt? All children had a fear of something right? It wasn't a big deal if he had a little fun. A prank every once in a while. Right? He missed pulling pranks on people. He missed being with the gang and… it would turn out alright. Being a child's occasional nightmare would be far more fun than a simple family pet.

When the morning came and the mother, Molly, went up to wake Ronald, he watched from the background apprehensively. If the boy saw even a wisp of him turning from rat to man he was in trouble. Peter waited with baited breath as Molly gently shook her son's shoulder only to jump, startled when Ronald began to wail upon waking. The six-year-old threw himself into his mother's arms, babbling incoherently between broken sobs.

"Ronnie!" the woman cried out in surprise and concern. He watched from the shadows as the boy buried his face further into the woman's chest. "What in merlin… Ronnie dear, what is it?"

The boy was inconsolable though. Arthur burst into the room, looking around wildly for danger, only for the man to still as he took in his hysterical son and bewildered wife. One of those deplorable twins came in next, eyes wide as he stared at the scene from behind his father.

"Mum, what's wrong?" the boy asked.

"I… I don't know!" Molly replied, gently trying to pry Ron away from her to look the boy in the eyes. Peter felt his tail twitch as he watched the show unfold. He needed the boy to talk. He needed to know if it worked.

Ron just continued to babble unintelligibly between sobs though. The six year old gripping his mother, shaking his head as he mumbled out half sentences. Molly rocked him back and forth, getting more upset the longer it continued.

"Ron, son, we need you to tell us what's wrong. Are you hurt? Did you have a nightmare?" Arthur called.

It took half an hour to calm him down enough to mumble anything recognizable. Molly and Arthur had both sat down on the bed as they tried to make sense of their child. The wait had every hair on his body standing on end with terror. In the time Charlie had checked up on things and Bill had steered a wandering Ginny away from the room. Neither Percy nor the other twin were anywhere in sight.

"Boogeyman," Ron whimpered.

Peter held his breath, though it was hardly worth it. The Weasley's exchanged relieved glances while the one twin rolled his eyes.

"Oh, sweetie, you had a nightmare? Come here and let me give you a cuddle, tell mummy all about it," Molly cooed reassuringly.

"Not a nightmare," Ron sniffled, "real."

"Oh honey, the Boogeyman's not real," Molly said softly.

"He is, he came… he came from under the bed," Ron whispered, voice cracking, threatening to turn into a sob once more. A snicker caught his attention, as well as the two parents in the room. Peter cringed. The other abominable child had shown up. The first whispering into the second's ear, eyes glancing towards the bundle in their mother's arms. He felt bad for a moment, for the little boy, he'd been at the hands of the two fiends more than enough to know how terrible being caught by them could be. At least when he'd frightened and hurt the boy it was simply a means to not go on the run once more.

They both disappeared from the frame. Peter noted the weary glance Arthur gave the retreating figures. The man turned back, brushing long strands of hair out of Ron's face. Ron's hands made their way to his neck where he fingered his throat before touching his jaw. The boy was probably confused as to why it no longer hurt.

"He had long hair and teeth," Ron told them.

"Did he?" Molly asked softly. The woman made a gesture towards Arthur, silently telling the man she could handle it. Arthur gave his wife a grateful smile, before gently patting Ron's head. This was far better than he imagined it to have been. Though he felt insulted by the teeth barb, he would deal if it meant the story sounding more ridiculous and childish.

He left then, deciding that there was no danger here. Besides he felt hungry and he knew Percy would have a treat stashed away for him in his room and if the boy was feeling particular annoyed or passionate, there would be ranting involved. Which was always enjoyable. One sided conversations that they were, Peter rather liked the glasses wearing little prude. Percy was like all of Remus's more amusing tendencies; posh and proper and indignant at the smallest of slights on his person.


	10. Chapter 9: Unloved

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

* * *

Chapter 9: Unloved

In the following days the twins taunted the boy relentlessly about the 'Boogeyman.' Peter was delighted with this turn of events. The twins clearly making the 'fear' worse. With all the distraction the Boogeyman's visit had caused, they'd all but forgotten about the rat who was not pleased to be thrown in the air or tied to the back of play broomsticks.

"From the darkness underneath…" Fred crowed.

"From beneath the bed I shall reap!" George finished, circling around the little redhead.

Peter chuckled to himself at the sight. He sat upon one of the higher kitchen shelves, watching the scene unfold. Little Ronnie looked at his two older brothers with deep hurt shining in his eyes, but children aren't so good at emotions. They don't understand when they've gone too far. When something isn't funny.

They understood when Ron stopped shouting at them though. When he started going to his room after breakfast every morning, quietly closing the door instead. It amused Peter to see the twin menaces lost for words. Shamefaced.

Eventually it died down and even Ron himself stopped mentioning the event or nightmare (as all the Weasley's insisted on telling Ron). Peter found himself content for quite some time, stretching out until a full year had passed, until suddenly he felt a need to talk to a human again. Not just stretch his limbs, but to have a conversation with them.

He'd prefer to have a conversation with the boy who gave him treats or perhaps the sweet little girl, but he knew neither would turn out well. It would be the Boogeyman incident all over again, but while the parents might be able to ignore one child having a nightmare about a man coming out from under the bed, two would be far too suspicious.

Ronald was the most reasonable choice. The parents would just assume it was another nightmare, and as long as he took a wand beforehand, there would be no need to be quite so… traumatizing.

* * *

One night, in the middle of December, Bill's wand found its way into his hands once more. Entering the room, he sealed the door and cast a silencing charm upon the room. He quickly sent an awakening charm upon the child before transforming into a rat to dive beneath the bed. The boy stirred, turning over on the bed and snuggling into his pillow further. Peter squeaked happily to himself as his plan came to fruition. Finally, for the first time in years, he'd be able to talk to someone.

He transformed, moving out from under the bed at the same time, allowing the grotesque features of mid transformation be seen by the child who let out a scream. Oh, that was so much fun. He let the transformation linger, his elongated jaw featuring sharp teeth. Then they receded, slowly, his jaw snapping with a crack. Years of transforming fluidly had allowed him a control he doubted few had.

He turned, seeing the boy backed into the corner of his bed, staring at him with wide, horrified eyes. Unlike his six-year-old self, who shook and cried, Ronald's seven-year-old self threw himself off the bed and towards the door. He watched, amused as small hands twisted the doorknob… to no effect. The boy tried again and again and again. Yanking and banging and tugging until tears wrenched themselves from his eyes to slide down cheeks in panic.

"Mummy!" The boy screamed.

"Mummy can't hear you," he informed him. "It's just you and me."

Ron's body stilled, head turning slightly to glance back at him, before his fists banged even more desperately on the door.

"Daddy! Bill! Charlie!"

He supposed he should stick a bit to his part. Make it all seem more along the lines of the first.

"Your skin and bones are mine, but I have plenty of time. Let us talk, you'll be fine, no need to fight," Peter reassured, grinning as the boy fell to his knees against the door, hand still trying to turn the doorknob. The redhead turned, sitting, but not moving any closer.

"Talk?" Ron asked.

He noticed that the boy was shaking.

"Talk," he repeated. Children were so easy to manipulate. "About anything you like. I don't mind. There's not much where I live, so sometimes I like to wander."

Ron frowned, refusing to look at him.

"Daddy says I'm not supposed to talk to strangers," the boy protested weakly.

Peter snickered.

"That's alright, that's alright, were not strangers, you see. I've been watching you for a long time. I know you."

"What?" Ron squeaked, glancing at him, before determinedly staring at the wall beside him.

"You screamed for your parents and for Bill and Charlie, but there not here often, are they? They're always too busy to play, right? Your father has work and your mum likes your sister better than you."

"No, she doesn't!" Ron snapped.

Ah, wasn't that a sore spot?

"I've seen her, the way she prefers your sister," he pointed out. Oh, if only Sirius could see him now. The dog shape shifter had claimed Peter wouldn't be able to pull off a prank by himself if his life depended on it. Well hah! His life did depend on how he played this out and he was doing marvelously! "She takes little Ginny on all sorts of shopping trips to Diagon alley while you stay here. She always let's Ginny have the last cookie and she always sides with her when you two get into arguments… no?"

Ron's lower lip was trembling, his hands wrapping around legs that the boy had brought up to his chest.

"You screamed for them and none of them came…" he began softly "…because none of them cared enough to. But if it had been Ginny, well, what do you think they would have done if they heard her screaming?"

Ron didn't answer.

"They would have rushed to her aide," Wormtail told him firmly. "They love her."

"Mummy and daddy love me!" Ron roared, eyes glaring furiously at him, before hurriedly looking away.

"Then where are they?" he asked softly.

Ron covered his ears, closing his eyes tightly, burying his face into his knees.

"Not real, not real, not real, you're not real!" the kid bellowed.

Annoyed, he stood, walking over to the kid and kneeling down before him, he forced the boy's chin up to look at him. Blue eyes stared, bright with fear and hurt.

"I'm very real," Peter told him, anger tinting his words. It was too reminiscent of the insults he got at Hogwarts. Four Marauders? No, no there's only three, right? Peter? Seriously? That guy? No way. He doesn't count.

"Please go away," Ron begged.

' _You're such a groupie, Peter!'_

' _Following them around like a dog.'_

' _Can't you do anything on your own?'_

' _Peter's the perfect person for this, no one will think it's him!'_

' _Pete just… go away.'_

"I. WILL. NOT!" he snarled, his hand curled around the red mop of hair, shaking the boy with each word. "I. AM. THE. BOOGEYMAN!" He felt his lips turn up into a twisted smile as the boy coward beneath him. His voice lowered as he leaned further down. "And I haunt the unwanted and unloved."

He cast a spell for forced sleep after that. He didn't bother to pull the covers over or be careful like the first time. There was no damage and he was too upset to care. He undid his spells and returned the wand. His transformation back into a rat was far more bitter than he'd thought it would be. He hadn't expected such awful memories to turn up.

It hadn't been fun at all.

A few minutes passed before the boy woke up from Peter's spell. The little redhead practically threw himself out of bed and at the door. Panicked fingers turning the knob and voice breaking into a half sob as it turned and opened for him. He heard the boy slam his door, it banged against the wall with such force, he was sure the boy had thought it wouldn't come open again. The house stirred. The seven-year-old ran passed him, hidden in the shadows, down the stairs.

Molly and Arthurs door opened and the rat watched as a tearful Ron begged them if he could sleep with them. They consented, Molly picking her boy up in her warm arms. He watched as she and Arthur exchanged worried looks before the door closed behind them.

* * *

A few days later Peter felt much better about the whole thing. He realized that he'd over reacted and that the child was not one of his classmates, but a little kid he was purposefully scaring. Of course, the kid would tell him to go away. He was the one being ridiculous. If he wanted to have their talks then he'd have to stop being so sensitive. It helped to forgive the boy for his words while witnessing the boy being tormented by the twins.

"Uh oh, George, the Boogeyman's coming! We gotta get into mummy and daddy's bed!" Fred called.

"Stop it," Ron muttered, swirling his oats around in the bowl.

"He's right Fred, you should stop it, otherwise the Boogeyman will come for you next!" George called.

"You're not funny," Ron snapped, angrily thunking the spoon into the bowl.

"Why so angry Ronniekins?" George crowed.

"You two needs to grow up!" Ginny announced, fiercely glaring at them.

He watched as the twins looked at each other before guffawing, dramatically throwing themselves onto the ground.

"Oh! Oh, I've got to keep that image in my head," Fred cried out, wiping fake tears from his eyes.

"I know, I know!" George rolled onto his stomach, putting his elbows onto the floor. "You two's needs to grow up!" George cried out in a small squeaky voice.

Fred laughed harder, arms wrapped around his sides. The boy stood from his chair abruptly, glaring at them, and leaving the oatmeal to become cold. Ginny threw them a withering glare, but didn't move from the table.

"Hey, Freddie, you thinking what I'm thinking?" George whispered.

"I. Will. Tell. Mummy," Ginny snapped.

"Tattletale," Fred sniped.

"Gits," Ginny said back, glaring fiercely at them.

Peter curled up and went to sleep. It seemed the twins would be ensuring that his visits continued to be seen only as nightmares of an easily frightened child. The thought made him feel warm inside.

* * *

When next he made the venture he found, to his delight and irritation, the boy wasn't panicking. He sat, refusing to look at him, on the bed. He didn't scream or run, just sat.

"So… why would you want to talk to me?" Ron asked, eyes boring into the desk beside his bed.

"I told you before, didn't I?" Peter told him excitedly. "I only visit the unwanted and unloved."

"I don't believe you," Ron announced. "Ginny defended me. Mummy and Daddy let me stay with them. Bill took me out the other day to go flying!"

Peter nodded, a wide, toothy grin of yellow teeth flashing towards him.

"Ginny's quite the boisterous little girl isn't she? She'd do anything to act like one of the boys, even defend _you_. And your parents may have let you stay, but they didn't believe you, did they? Would they have if the other boys had come to them about it?" He let the silence stretch out a bit, letting the thought reach its claws into the boy.

"And I was there, I saw, I heard!" Peter added after a moment. "You were bothering your mother. All she wanted was to bake with her little girl, but you had to intrude. You wanted to be involved. So she asked Bill to get you out of the way."

"Liar," Ron hissed.

"Why would I? I have no reason to. Why come to you, out of all your siblings, out of all the households nearby? You're nothing special."

"What are you?" Ron demanded, trying to sound brave and in control, but the voice came out like a squeak.

"I'm the Boogeyman," Peter chuckled.

"Monsters don't talk," Ron pointed out.

"They only rhyme and growl, is that it?" Peter asked, delighted. Oh, how much fun this was turning out to be. He crawled over to the bed, letting his too long, too greasy hair stray in front of him. "Only the best of monsters talk."

Any ordinary monster could hurt a person physically, but it took a whole new level of terror to take someone apart with just their words. The dark lord had been particularly pleased when he could enter a person's mind and destroy them rather than simply cursing them into the grave. How much better is it then, for someone who doesn't need to use magic at all? Simple words twisting the truth until it is unrecognizable.

"Are you a special kind of ghost?" Ron pushed. "Ghost's usually have a reason for staying," the seven-year-old said quietly. "Maybe I can help you."

"I'm very much alive," Peter told him.

"Are you sure?" Ron asked, glancing at him. "Because… I mean… even dementors and giants wear clothes and… I don't know… I'd be pretty mad to die naked."

Peter threw back his head and laughed. He looked down at his naked body, having barely noticed the lack of clothes until that point. How uncomfortable the boy must be. And, now that he thought about it, was probably why the boy refused to look at him. He'd not wanted for clothes in his rat form and after such a long time without transforming back into his human form, he just didn't feel the need to hide after they'd worn away.

"Do you not like what you see?" Peter asked, more teasing than serious.

Ron shook his head vehemently, scooting back when Peter put his hands on the bed and leaned towards him.

"I can get you clothes," Ron offered, shakily, "You could fit Daddy's clothes. Maybe, he's tall, but you'd still fit because your…"

' _Fat,'_ Peter thought in annoyance. His hand absentmindedly traced the wet girth of his stomach. Too much laying about and a tendency to eat out of boredom.

"I don't want 'daddy's clothes,'" Peter mocked. He sat on the bed, snickering as the boy practically slammed into the wall behind him. Ron pulled his pillow between them, scooting to the edge of the bed. "I want to talk. And when you can't talk anymore then I'll take your skin and bones."

"Why… why would you… want that?" Ron croaked, nearing the end of his brave front.

"Mine don't last that long," he lied happily. "They're from the last little boy and quite frankly he was far too small to fit right. I had to stretch his skin quite a bit, I'm afraid."

With that last comment Ron practically fell out of the bed and raced across the room. Terror over riding his brave front. Rather than go towards the door they both knew was locked, he went for the window. Ron took one of his toys without so much as pausing and slammed it against the window. It cracked.

 _'Smart little brat,'_ Peter admitted grudgingly.

While the boy was distracted, he reached for the wand he'd stashed under the desk while the boys back was turned to him. With a flick of his wrist the glass became impenetrable, at least to a seven year old.

 _Crucio_.

The none verbal spell hit Ron square between his shoulders. The toy slipped to the floor as Ron fell screaming and convulsing to the ground. He let it do its work for a few seconds, sitting back on the bed in contentment, he'd not been able to be involved much in this part of the war. Only as a spy.

When he finally let it go the boy was sobbing and flinching beneath him. This was how it should be. How everyone should be to him. He was not some weakling that needed others. He was a powerful wizard who could handle more than anyone ever gave him credit for. Peter crouched, making sure the wand was hidden from view.

"Naughty, naughty child, you'll make me do something more vile. Don't ever run from me, don't you see? We can have a nice chat, but if you want to be a brat, then I'll have to be the rat," he announced in a sing song voice.

He pulled the sobbing mess up by his hair, smiling as a foot kicked out at him. He reached out, gripping the trembling chin in his fingers.

"Do we understand one another?" He asked in a sickly, sweet voice.

The boy ignored him, trying to pry his hands free, even while he continued to sob and gasp for breath. He shook the boy hard.

"Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?!" He hissed, more for show than actual anger. The boy opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't manage to get any words out, so he forced himself to nod his head. Peter smiled in satisfaction, letting the boy drop. Before the redhead even managed to lift himself off the ground, he'd grabbed the wand and sent the boy to sleep. It wasn't as if they would be able to talk after he'd tortured him with crucio.

One of the central benefits of crucio, the reason it was known as a tool for torture and war, was the lack of evidence in its use. It had been created and designed for the sole purpose of leaving no physical trace. It could not be found in a diagnostics spell because it did no actual damage. It attacked the mind, not the body.

Peter stroked Ron's cheek as he put the boy back into bed. He was becoming rather… fond of him. Percy had always been his favorite among the Weasleys, but the more time he spent with the youngest boy, the more he found himself admiring him. There was something special about Ronald Weasley. Something that he couldn't put his finger on.

* * *

It was a new kind of humor to see the family reacting to his power; to what he'd done. The boy hadn't been able to say a word since waking up. He just trembled and cried and sat still on the couch where his mum had taken him in an effort to keep a worried eye on him. Not even the little miscreants taunted the boy about 'nightmares' today. That morning he'd watched as Molly discovered her little boy on his bed, staring blankly ahead, refusing to move.

She'd done everything; talked, rocked, hugged, murmured, used spells to check for illness. All of that got nothing from the boy. The kid refused to eat anything for breakfast and hadn't wanted food at lunch either.

"I don't understand," he heard the woman mutter.

The twins had even gone so far as to sit next to Ron on the couch for an hour. Ron had cuddled up to one of them, hiccupping, all cried out, but still upset.

"Hey, it's okay, it was just a nightmare," one of the twins told the boy.

"Why's he so... I don't get it," the other one muttered, angrily.

"You wanna play chess Ronnie?" George spoke up again. He was starting to finally recognize who each twin was. More in the way they carried themselves and spoke. Though it was frustratingly difficult and Peter felt he had to start over in trying to distinguish them each time they left the room.

Ron shook his head against the older boy's chest. Hands wrapping tighter around George's waist. Peter watched the two exchange worried looks. He probably wouldn't be able to get away with another visit for a long while. And besides… it wouldn't do to thoroughly break the kid, then who would he talk to?

It took several days to get Ron talking again. The boy slept in his parent's bedroom for two full weeks before they managed to convince him to sleep in his own room again. He'd woken up with nightmares, actual nightmares, for several weeks after that. Each night making his way into someone's bed; the twins, Percy's, Ginny's. No one protested much. Nor did they say anything to Ron leaving his door open and insisting that a light be kept on in the hall.

He thought it terribly funny how the little girl reacted though; the way she began to pull her brother along behind her after one of his real nightmares and made him sit while she made 'tea.' She treated him like one of her dolls, talking to him and pretending he talked back when the boy sat motionless in the chair across from her.

Eventually though, things did go back to normal. The boy's parents got close one day, far too close, to the point he'd been frightened he'd pushed things too far. They'd asked about what the nightmares were about. And this time… Ron answered.

"The Boogeyman did something that really, really hurt," Ron had finally relented.

"What did he do?" Arthur asked.

"He was rhyming and saying he was going to wear my skin. He didn't touch me or anything. He just… said things."

"He… insulted you?" Molly questioned, bewildered by the extreme reaction.

Ron shook his head and it was as Peter listened that he wondered if he hadn't been quite so careful, if he'd perhaps mumbled the crucio spell under his breath.

"No, he said something, and then everything hurt," Ron explained.

"Well, what did he say?" Arthur asked, too tired to explain to Ron, again, that there was no Boogeyman.

"I… I don't remember," Ron told them quietly. "But it hurt!"

Thank merlin they didn't understand. They hadn't made the connection. Hadn't associated the word with a spell. They didn't understand that they're child had experienced torture and had simply left it at that. They hadn't thought to question if the word had been a spell because how could Ron have a nightmare about something he didn't know about? The Weasley's made sure that their children knew next to nothing about the dark arts, that they weren't aware of curses and therefore could not accidentally perform one.

They weren't ready.

But when a child doesn't know how to explain things then they lose the ability to reach out as well. It was the double edged sword of parenthood.

Peter was safe.


	11. Chapter 10: The Unseen

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

A/N: Only two more chapters in the past. When I originally wrote this piece, the story took place during Ron's childhood entirely, which is why this is heavily written. I only had brief plans for fifth year and definitely had no intentions of writing an alternative fifth year when I went into this project. I know the materials in this are pretty heavy. I always planned on this being an exploration of a villains character more than anything. It wasn't supposed to go more than 20,000 words, but then I started in on the consequences and it turned into a story all on its own. So here we are. Chapter 12 will continue into fifth year. A/N: HEY... WRITING FROM MY PHONE. SUPER AWKWARD, SORRY, MY COMPUTER SHIT OUT ON ME AND IT WILL BE THREE WEEKS BEFORE I GET A NEW ONE [ITS HOW MY PAY CHECKS FALL]. I ALREADY HAD THIS CHAPTER READY TO LAUNCH SO... YEAH. THIS IS THE LAST UPDATE FOR A FEW WEEKS. AND I DONT KNOW HOW TO TURN THE CAPS ON THIS THING OFF SO SORRY!!!

Chapter 10: The Unseen

The random visits while Bill and Charlie were home were becoming more and more difficult to wait for though. Peter would not risk taking the adults wands. It would be too obvious.

It had been years since Peter had left the safety of the Burrow for the outside world. This was worth the risk even knowing that Remus was out there. He wasn't sure if Remus had bought the story Peter had crafted for himself in his escape. The werewolf had always been the smartest out of the four of them and if he'd figured it out then there was little doubt he would be hunting Peter down in his free time.

It was just as likely that upon losing the three of them in one night, the man had fallen into a depression. Remus had always been desperate for friendship and losing all those he cared about could very well have been the tipping point. It all depended on what was more prominent in the days that followed; anger or loss. If it was James or Sirius, it wouldn't be a question at all.

The risk was worth it though.

He couldn't… he wouldn't go back to being invisible, unseen and unknown to those around him. He wanted to be felt and to be heard and to interact with those around him. He craved human interaction. It was like an addiction now, taking over even his need for survival. It all boiled down to one thing; he needed to steal a wand.

Ollivander was out. The old man was cooky, but fairly dangerous. Remus once said Ollivander knew every twig of every wand in his shop and Peter did not doubt that for a moment. The man would have charms and hexes far too dangerous around his wands for it to be safe to steal. One of the other shops though, they would do.

He ended picking a little place run by an old witch with glasses thick enough to double as a telescope. Luckily for him Wands were chosen especially by these skilled shop owners for each individual's needs. No one stole a wand. It just wasn't heard of. Little security charms were easily avoided in his animagus form and he found himself with one possessing similar traits to his old wand. Not identical, but a strong oak that possessed a unicorn's core.

Peter cast a powerful invisibility charm upon his wand with another from the shop before heading out. Traveling back to the Weasley's home, he'd felt lighter than he had in years. Since before the war and any dark lords had invaded Great Britain. When he was just a school boy, trying to get by and having a blast with his best friends beside him.

He was alive and free.

There was a world of opportunities in front of him and only himself to stop those changes from being reality. He was eager, he realized. So eager to have some more fun. He felt more alive in the room than he had in a very long time. He'd waited too long for this. It had been so much time since he'd really enjoyed being a rat. He got to cause havoc and then he was able to stay in plain sight to see the results of what he'd done. As they say; he got to have his cake and eat it too.

And tonight was the perfect night.

Percy, Bill and Charlie had gone to Hogwarts for the new semester. The little girl, Ginny, had gone to the Lovegoods. The twins had worn their parents out with their assortment of pranks, so all four of them were thoroughly out for the night. The parents had stopped checking in on Ron two months ago now, so there was no chance of an unexpected, late night visit.

Slipping into the room with the wand between his teeth, Peter felt jittery. It had been awhile. He transformed into a human, quietly casting the required spells for this to work. Thinking back on all the pranks he and the others had performed.

He remembered one year in particular: Sirius had set up the hallways up with fake illusions of creatures where he knew a girl he liked and her boyfriend were making out. Sirius had hidden in James's invisibility cloak and scared the guy to death. Then, charmingly, he'd 'saved' the girl and by the end of the night gotten into her knickers. Remus had been furious. But their werewolf friend had always been a stick in the mud.

"Ronald," he called. The boy's body went stiff. Eyes flew open, looking around in dread. "It's been awhile," Peter purred. "Since you tried to break the window." Ron glanced at it, but there was no crack, not since Peter had fixed it after putting the boy to sleep.

Ron didn't say anything, refusing to look at him at all.

"What horrible manners. I traveled all this way, just to hear nothing? I could always listen to you scream, if you like," Peter offered.

"No, please no," Ron begged.

"Then talk."

"I don't know what you want," Ron shot back, frustration clear in his voice.

"You're nothing but skin and bones, aren't you? But that's good enough for me. I could make due, it would be better to wait, to let you grow, but this skin feels very tight. I really do need a new one." He murmured thoughtfully.

"I… I…" Ron sputtered, "…I hate Aunt Muriel. She always has such nasty things to say about us and dad."

"Really?" Peter asked, smug at the show of control he had.

The awful woman had stayed for quite some time this last visit. She'd left the same day the children went off to Hogwarts. The boy was grasping at recent memories to fill his request.

"She says mum shouldn't have married him because he never intended to get a good job to support us. She could tell he didn't want to work hard and it was mum's fault for… for picking such a… such a muggle loving… lunatic," Ron explained, watching him carefully.

Peter let his smile widen, showing off his large, yellow teeth.

"That's not all she said though… was it?" Peter carefully questioned, revealing his omnipotent power (the ever watching rat). "She also says that you only came from him, right? You are your father's son." Ron seemed to shrink further under those words. "Not the other children though. They're… redeemable. But not you because there's nothing noteworthy about you."

"How… how do you…" Ron trailed off.

"I told you, I've been watching you."

The little boy flinched, subconsciously moving away from him and closer to the wall. He hardly thought it was purposeful. The boy had learned fear. Something moved out of the corner of his eye. He glanced towards it, a growing feeling of pleasure passing through him. It was a little thing, to him anyways, but he'd not been the only person in the house to teach the boy to fear something.

It would have stayed in its spot if he'd not sent a small spark out towards it to make it move. If not for that then perhaps things would have played out differently that night. The nightmare would have ended. But he had noticed and he had encouraged it.

So the spider came down, large and foreboding to a child, to land unceremoniously beside the boy. Ron screamed in terror as he caught sight of it, throwing his pillow at the thing. It twitched angrily before moving closer to him. Peter's rusty voice came out in a laugh of pleasure. He cast further non-verbal spells.

The room's corners came alive with spiders. The walls loomed ominously with shadows coming alive. A simple illusion, but so much fun! He allowed his illusion charm to spread out then, allowing dozens more to pop out from all corners of the room in all sizes.

"Stop it! Stop it! Make it go away!" Ron shrieked as he brandished something that had been hidden under his pillow against the enlarged spider coming towards him.

And suddenly it wasn't funny anymore.

Ron slammed a knife into the enlarged spider. It twitched angrily, its legs trying to grab at Ron before keeling over from the wound. Peter stood from his sitting position on the floor, walking across the room to grip Ron's hand in one strong grip. He eyed the knife angrily. If he hadn't of known about it, the boy would have been able to use the knife against him easily.

"Planning to stab me?!" Peter hissed.

Ron was hysterical, kicking at the oversized dead spider while dozens of little ones crawled all over him, and pulling at Peter's iron like grip. He squeezed the wrist tightly until Ron cried out in pain, dropping the kitchen knife. The spiders still swarmed, covering every inch as the child tried to bat them away. They were illusions though, no way to get rid of them without him commanding it and he certainly had no intentions of calling them off. Not now. Play time was over.

"How dare you," he hissed into the boy's face, "after I warned you not to pull anything. All I wanted was to talk!"

But Ron wasn't paying any attention to him. All of his attention was on the things crawling into his clothes. He threw the brat onto the bed in disgust. Livid, he just watched the boy practically seize in terror. Sirius had stopped the illusion long before it got to this point, but the girl hadn't had a knife on her. The girl hadn't planned to kill him! This was fair. The boy deserved it!

The girl also hadn't had twin brothers who turned her teddy bear into a spider when she was three, but Peter hardly cared at that moment. The brat could have killed him! Peter flicked his wrist, the invisible wand vanishing the knife.

Turning at the sound of silence he felt satisfaction. The boy had stopped screaming, keeping his lips tightly closed, body curled into a ball on the mat, with his hands covering both his ears.

"You didn't listen," Peter snarled. He knew exactly what spell he'd use. Bellatrix Lestrange had been particularly fond of it because there was never any trace. It was like the Crucio in that it caused no physical remnants after the spell ended. It wasn't quite up to par, in concerns to pain, but it was very reminiscent of the 'skin and bones' rhyme he'd been spouting out all this time.

It caused the bones to feel as if they were burning. For the person to feel as if they're skin was being shaved with a rusty iron and the blood to run cold in a person's veins. It was a torture technique used in the golden days of the medieval times; when wizards, witches and muggles all lived amongst one another.

"I'll take your skin and bones," the slightly crazed wizard hissed.

He muttered the spell under his breath, watching as Ron's eyes widened, and his mouth opened in a silent scream. Red light swirled around the boy, sinking into his skin. The boy seemed to be having a mini seizure as he simultaneously tried to both swipe at the spiders all over him and curl into a ball from the pain.

When it was finally over, when Peter relented and released him, the boy just laid there with tears streaming down his face. He didn't look at him at all and Peter had the distinct feeling he'd gone too far.

'He was going to try and kill me,' the man reasoned, staring down at the child. Still… Peter had ruined his fun. He'd ruined it for quite some time. Or maybe this would help. Yes. He'd broken the boy. Now the boy wouldn't fight him anymore. Yes. This was good. He'd done good. It had been the right thing to do.

Ron's resistance against him was no longer fun.

Silently, he called off the illusion and vanished the single spider's corpse. He allowed the spells upon the room to fall. Peter didn't bother to put the child to sleep this time. Instead he backed up into the darkness, allowing the shadows to hide him, as dim blue eyes watched. Peter cast one final spell, one that hid him completely against the wall so that when he transformed into a rat, it looked as if he simply sunk into the wall itself.

Hours passed. The sun rose as the house hold slept in that morning. No work. No school. Just a lazy Saturday morning. It took forever for the boy to stagger out of the bed. He hit the floor, twitching, recoiling from the bed altogether as his body fell beside the opening underneath.

Peter scuttled along. Watching the slow progress. Ron looked around. A paranoid skittishness sinking in. Glee enveloped Peter. He'd done that. Done this. He watched as Ron slunk down the hallway to the twin's bedrooms. Peter hesitated at first, before following.

"Ronnie?" One of the twins slurred.

One of these days he would be able to identify which was which without a glance.

Ron crawled into the bed, a whimper escaping. He was surprised when the twin refrained from saying something disparaging, but instead pulled the kid to him. Even from his spot near the door he could see the little redhead trembling under the covers. A lamp was turned on and the other twin moved from one bed to the other. He saw the two exchange looks over the trembling figure.

A strange sort of disappointment filled him when the other twin simply got into the bed and hugged the boy from behind. If Ron ever grew confident enough in himself then Peter could lose control of the situation. The twins helped make Peter's words that much easier to believe.

"Hey now," the twin hugging Ron from behind murmured, "you're okay. There really isn't any Boogeyman out there, ya know? We were only… it was just a joke. We'll stop."

This wouldn't do at all.

"Ronnie, you need to eat," he heard Molly Weasley tell her son.

Intrigued, he hurried into the kitchen, sniffing the air. Shepherd Pie if he wasn't mistaken. Molly and the children were sitting at the dinner table, Arthur already having sent an owl to inform them he wouldn't be home until later that night. Ron sat at the table, dark circles under his eyes, moving food around his plate, but not having taken a bite yet.

It had been three weeks since the knife incident and Peter felt pleased with the results. How dare the brat try to harm him? This is what he deserved. This is what happens to those who try to hurt him. They pay.

Ron hadn't slept a full night since, waking with nightmares, looking over his shoulder for the shadow that watched him. Peter was delighted. The boy had completely lost his appetite and just about all speech.

Ginny pulled her chair up close to Ron's. Staring at her older brother with wide, uncertain eyes. Ron wouldn't look at her though. He didn't seem to be looking at anything.

"I think your impersonation of the attic ghouls a bit much," one of the twins bit out in irritation, and that was Fred, Peter recognized the tone. Pleased with himself, Peter leaned forward to watch closer.

"Just eat something," George insisted, more gently.

Ron looked up blankly, before taking a bite of the now mostly cold dinner.

"You can have my pumpkin juice," Ginny's voice peeped.

Ron turned to her, his lips twitching, before his hand reached out to pet the little girls head. The boy's own drink was untouched still.

"That's okay, Gin," Ron whispered, but he smiled a little.

From the shadows Peter watched.

Waiting.

He visited Ron four more times after the knife incident. Less violent than the previous visits. He was getting better at keeping his temper in check and Ron hadn't tried hiding a weapon again. The boys eighth birthday came and passed.

In these visits he set out to counteract the boy's family's efforts. He told the boy they only comforted him to keep him quiet. He reminded the boy of each moment when he was ignored. Subtle like, he insisted that when his mother left him behind and took Ginny it was because he was unwanted and unloved. The twin's lack of pranks being pulled on him was not because they were being kind, but because they were disgusted with him. That he wasn't even worth their time to prank him anymore.

His visits were infrequent, but they had their desired effect. The boy suffered from nightmares nearly every night. Sometimes he woke his parents. Sometimes he did not. He hated sleeping in his room, often finding his way into the others rooms.

But the longer Peter talked with the boy, the less he argued back. His words slowly sunk into the boy's mind until he felt guilt ridden and ashamed to seek out his family members. Instead the boy would drag a blanket with him and hide in the coat closet downstairs, falling asleep among the shoes, to avoid sleeping in his room or other family members. A few times he snuck into Charlie and Bills room, though never Percy's, as the boy had set up several nasty hexes for the twins should they enter.

Watching all of this take place, he felt elated. The boy was wrapped around his finger. Brought to tears with a few words or devastated with a simple statement. There was a gleam in the boy's eyes still. A defiance that he didn't really believe what Peter had to say. But Peter saw everything. He heard and saw what Ron did and much, much more. His knowledge of the family, of what happened on a day to day basis, was what really gave him power. Knowledge that no one should have. Words exchanged, interactions, all the little things he'd only paid half attention to all these years was now ammo in his arsenal.

If Ron didn't believe him then he just added a little something. A detail here and there. A promise that Ron and Ginny had shared in secret, with no eyes on them, or a conversation with his father when everyone else was out. How could he know all of this? Unless he was truly the Boogeyman. Unless his powers were great and all knowing. And since he had great powers, since he knew all that he knew… if all the little things he knew were true, then the other things he said, were they also true?

The first time Ron flinched at Molly's touch, Peter felt truly accomplished. The hurt on the woman's face, the weariness and exhaustion on the child's… it was liberating. He had power over an entire family of purebloods and they didn't even know it.

He was the unseen force behind the terror of their youngest child, of the subdued air about the twins, of the worry and anxiety that filled Arthur and Molly Weasley. He kept them awake at night, listening for the sounds of their child suffering a nightmare. He quieted the twin's antics more thoroughly than anyone ever had. He crafted the tense air during meal times and before sleep.

His power.

What really brought joy to him though was that Ron was doing a lot of his work for him. The boy tried to tell them about the Boogeyman. About the 'nightmares,' but they listened with the ears of parents listening to stories about nightmares. The more the boy talked… the more ridiculous he sounded. Talking about the Boogeyman, about how the skin of the last boy was too tight, about how the Boogeyman wanted his skin. How the Boogeyman knew everything about the family, how he was watching from the shadows. How the Boogyman disappeared into shadows.

Well, that sounded ludicrous, didn't it?

The descriptions of how the Boogeyman crawled out from under the bed with a grotesque face that turned human; about yellow, long fingernails and a finger missing on one hand, about teeth too long and words that rhymed half the time.

Oh, how he squeaked with laughter when the boy tried to tell them. How he guffawed at the boy's frustration and pain when they told him it wasn't real. How the giddy feeling overwhelmed him when the family unintentionally reaffirmed all the things Peter had told the boy.

They would never believe him.

They only comforted him because they wanted a good night's sleep.

His mum never wanted him, she wanted a girl, so why would she believe his cries for attention?

If they cared about you, why don't they come when you scream?

If they loved you, why wouldn't they believe you?

Peter was the unseen power of the household.

He was unnerved when they brought him into St. Mungo's. The spells he cast on the boy, luckily would not be detected so long after being cast. The diagnostic spells would reveal the concussion from the first visit, but would they associate such an injury with nightmares? The diagnostics would show Ron had gotten it when he was six. Two years ago. And the Weasley children were known for rough housing, there was no reason to believe that such an old injury with unknown originals could be traced back to Peter. Still, he wished he could be there.

What if they discovered something? He knew that Bellatrix's spell would not be detected, but he'd heard mention by a few Aurors that they were capable of recognizing if a person had ever been subjected to the crucio curse. But it required a very specific spell. It wasn't simply uncovered with normal diagnostic spells. A person needed to be looking for a torture victim in order to have it discovered. There was no reason for the Aurors to be involved in a case like this. Of an eight-year-old child suffering from nightmares. He had nothing to worry about.

Still, when the house was not charged into with men raising wands in search of him, he felt relief. Instead Molly trudged through the door with Arthur following. In Arthur's arms lay a sleeping Ron. A normal visit to the healers, nothing more.

A bottle of dreamless sleeping drought was placed on the kitchen table where Molly sat down. Arthur rubbing his son's back in a slow, comforting motion, though Peter suspected the boy already too far gone in the potion to have any notion of it.

Molly's eyes stared at her little boy, a helpless expression on her face as Arthur sat down across from her.

"You should put him to bed," Molly whispered.

"Not yet," Arthur said softly. His arms tightened a little around the boy, as if afraid he'd disappear if he let go. Molly said nothing about the action. There were dark bags under both of their eyes. Molly buried her face in the palms of her hands, breathing heavily into them to still the hitch in her breath.

"What do we do when it runs out? The droughts addictive Arthur, we can't keep him on it. And this… it's not going away."

"The boys will be home from school soon," Arthur pointed out, "it will be easier once we have a little help. Maybe Ron will open up to one of them."

"Ron's told us about his nightmares, Arthur, he's not hiding anything. The twins aren't telling him any more stories. They've told him it's not real. What else can we do?"

"There has to be something else to this," Arthur said, desperation in his words. "Maybe he wandered too far into the woods and saw something. Maybe we should be handling this situation differently."

Peter's head snapped up at that.

"You think the creature was real?" Molly asked, incredulous.

Arthur shifted Ron in his arms, holding him close.

"Think about it. He told us that it was something horrible and then transformed into a man? What if he witnessed a werewolf early one morning changing back into a human. It could be the reason he keeps insisting its real. The sight would have been terrifying to a child, Merlin, to a grown man."

"A werewolf, around here?" Molly demanded, there was a touch of fear in her voice, consideration.

"Their humans too, Molly dear, they can go as they please. It's entirely possible one could have been nearby. And if he didn't know what he was seeing…" Arthur trailed off.

"Then he could have just thought it was the Boogeyman," Molly whispered to herself.

"Seeing that combined with all those stories Fred and George told him… well it was almost asking for something like this to happen."

Arthur stroked Ron's hair, pushing it back away from his face. From the shadows Peter cursed. They were too close to the truth for his liking.

When Arthur finally seemed intent on talking to his son, Peter ensured that he would be in the room. Sneaking in through the small opening before the door closed. Eyes beadily watching as Ron looked up from his homework.

"What are you doing there, son?" Arthur asked gently, sitting down next to the boy.

Ron's face scrunched up unhappily.

"Maths."

"Not my favorite subject either," Arthur confessed with a wry grin. "What say we put it aside for a bit?" Ron happily obliged, sitting up and looking at his dad curiously. Arthur pulled his boy to him, wrapping his arms around his son's shoulders in a bracing motion. "Ron, have I ever told you about werewolves."

"No."

"Well, they're people, people who have suffered a great deal. They can be very dangerous though, very frightening, but you should know that it's not their fault."

"What's not?" Ron pulled away a little to look his father in the eye. Arthur squeezed his shoulders again. Peter held his breath, slinking to the edge of his shadow. Ron caught sight of him and he felt himself tense. "What are you doing here, Scabbers?"

The boy scurried over to him and whisked him into his arms. He let out a squeak of surprise and indignation. Ron shushed him, sitting in front of his father, plopping the rat into his lap and staring at his father expectantly. Arthur glanced down at him briefly. Peter felt himself freeze, but relaxed as the man looked away.

That's right.

He wasn't doing anything wrong. He was just a pet in a room. Hidden in plain sight. He settled down, front paws on Ron's leg. He didn't need to hide in the shadows. And it was about time he stopped thinking he should.

"Son," Arthur started again, "werewolves are people who… they transform. Turn from wolf to human and from human to wolf."

"Really? That's wicked," Ron breathed.

"They don't have control of it though," Arthur continued, "and the transformation hurts them. They're bones shift and their skin grows and stretches over their new body. Mid-transformation they may look very… hm… they may look like something in between. Something grotesque."

Ron stared at his dad for a long time. The silence made Peter feel uncomfortable, and he could tell it was a feeling Arthur shared.

"Like…" Ron trailed off, looking up at his dad uncertainly. Ron touched his cheeks, finger tracing along where his teeth were under the skin. "Like their cheeks are missing and sharp teeth are showing?" Ron said carefully.

Huh, was that how he looked half transformed? He'd never seen himself shift before. He watched Arthur stiffen at his son's words, before the man nodded curtly.

"Yes, just like that," Arthur said quietly. "Ron, have you seen a werewolf transform?"

Ron shook his head, but there was doubt on his face.

"Are you certain?" Arthur probed. "Are you sure that you didn't wander out into the forest early one morning?"

"I've gone out in the mornings, but I never saw anything like that on my walks, dad," Ron told him.

"You seem to be familiar with this though, with seeing someone transform," Arthur pointed out. Peter watched as Ron opened his mouth, then closed it. Over the last month or so Ron had become more and more resistant to mentioning the Boogeyman. No one believed him. "I think… that this Boogeyman you see in your nightmares, I believe he's real, Ron, I believe you saw him." Arthur put a reassuring hand on Ron's shoulder, but the boy shook it off, shaking his head in denial.

"I don't think the Boogeyman's a person, dad, he's a monster," Ron mumbled.

"Werewolves aren't monsters Ron, they just can't control themselves on the full moon," Arthur told him sternly. "Whatever it is you saw, just remember that they're a person, no matter how scary it might have been to see them transform."

"I didn't see anyone on a walk, dad," Ron insisted. "He was in my room. He came out from under the bed."

Arthur sighed heavily.

"I think you saw something awful son, something downright terrifying, and you're stopping yourself from remembering, but it's coming out in these nightmares," Arthur explained. When Ron refused to say anything else Arthur rubbed at his temple. "Ronald, I want you to think back to your nightmares and tell me something. Werewolves lose their clothes during a transformation, when they turn back into a human, they are naked, this Boogeyman, does he wear clothes?"

Oh, how marvelous! Peter felt like jumping up in joy. How utterly perfect. Animagus were rare, far rarer than werewolves. No one would ever think of an Animagus before a werewolf sighting, especially in this particular situation. And it was true that Animagus could transform with clothes, but it was extremely difficult and took a level of control that Peter had only learned after ten years of actively studying the art.

This was… this was just pure…

"No," Ron answered. He seemed lost. Unsure in his conviction. "He doesn't wear clothes. I told him I could get him some of your clothes, but he got angry and said he didn't want them."

"Is that so?" Arthur asked, face grim, as if his fears had been confirmed. "Listen Ron, the person you saw transform, they were probably not feeling their best. Werewolves are dangerous when their transformed. Completely out of control. From now on I don't want you wandering outside of our yard without your mother or me with you. That goes for Ginny and the twins as well."

"But… I don't think…" Ron tried.

Peter let out a squeal of indignation as he was dumped unceremoniously from Ron's lap as Arthur swept him up in a hug.

"You're going to be okay. I know it must have been very frightening for you. All alone and seeing something like that, but it's all going to be okay."

The pair swept out of the room. Ron looking crestfallen and Arthur determined. Peter righted himself. His tail twitching in aggravation. Oh, it most certainly was not. His beady eyes watched as the door closed shut.


	12. Chapter 11: The Unforgivable

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

Warning: Sexual content. I creeped myself out writing this chapter. There's no sex scenes per say, but… the implications are enough to make the skin crawl. This story is about the consequences of rape and the creation of monsters, but I really don't feel as if it needed the scene itself.

* * *

Chapter 11: The Unforgivable

Peter scurried over the toes of Percy and Charlie, receiving a disgusted nudge from the latter. He ignored it, moving to the outer portion of the living room. The children were gathered around a table, playing exploding snaps. They'd arrived home from school for the summer just yesterday.

He wasn't particular pleased about it. Percy would be taking him away at the end of the summer. He would lose so many opportunities to talk to Ron. It really wasn't fair.

He still had the summer though and he found their reactions to his work thoroughly satisfying. Bill, Charlie, and Percy had not stopped looking at Ron since they'd arrived. Their eyes wandering over his form with a sense of horror and confusion.

Ron looked sick. There were dark lines under his eyes like bruises and he'd lost weight on his already lanky form. When Bill had first seen him the older boy had dropped his bag and swept the little boy up in a tight hug.

"Got the flu kiddo?"

Ron had only thrown his arms around his neck in reply, burying his face in the crook of his older brother's neck. Percy's eyes had been wide, looking from Ron to their mother, and back again. Charlie walked into the house, carrying Ginny, but did a double take when he saw his little brother.

"What in the…" Charlie started.

"Boogeyman," Ginny piped up.

"Nightmares," Molly corrected, voice strained, face weary. "Poor dears been having nightmares at least three nights a week since you left after Christmas."

The boys exchanged looks of worry.

"Sounds like you've been having a tough time, kiddo. Want to play chess?" Bill asked, looking down at the boy.

Ron hadn't made it very long through the game though. Eyes falling shut before the end. Head resting on the tabletop. Bill had scooped him up and let him sleep in his arms.

Days passed and Peter realized his opportunities were slipping away. It was irritating how the family corralled together to help the brat. Ron seemed to never be alone. The boy's room all but abandoned to stay with one person or another during the night.

"What was it like?" George asked out of the blue one summer day.

Peter sat chowing down on the remains of one of Mrs. Weasley's lovely stews. Percy having snuck a little bit down to him in a bowl. The boy was much more pleasant than Charlie and perhaps living with him at Hogwarts would not be too terrible after all. He'd gone years without talking to anyone already. It would be a snap.

"What?" Ron asked, looking up from his own meal.

"The werewolf, of course," Fred drawled. "Mum said that you saw a werewolf transform. That's where your nightmares have been coming from. So, fess up!"

"I didn't see a werewolf," Ron muttered, pushing his stew away and getting down from the table to leave.

The first twin to speak hopped down and grabbed Ron by the wrist.

"Nuh uh, I'm not getting in trouble for you not finishing your meal. Again. Get up there," Fred snapped.

"You should never have brought the topic up, George," Percy told him sternly.

Peter had gotten the twins mixed up again.

How the blazes do these children tell one twin from the other? He would never understand. They had the same face, the same bloody voice, they even dressed alike! Though today the one called Fred wore blue while the other wore red.

Percy turned to Ron and gestured for him to continue eating, eyes watching Ron hesitate from over an overly large textbook that Peter suspected was not for first years. Ron picked at his food, taking a bite whenever one of his brothers looked his way.

It was maddening to once more be thrust into the position of watcher rather than overseer. The truly terrifying moment was when Arthur and Molly took to speaking late into the night about options like seeking out Remus Lupin from the Order to introduce to Ron so that he might be able to put a human face to the nightmares.

Remus, of course, proved to be just as elusive after the war as he was during it. The man was prone to disappearing for months on end and currently was nowhere to be found. It was with a feeling of relief that this meeting would be post poned. Hopefully indefinitely. The Weasley's didn't know any other werewolves though so Remus remained a threat in a not so distant future as long as the Werewolf theory remained.

There was another more… delicate problem that needed to be handled though. One where the solution was not so readily obvious or available. This past year he'd taken to being in his human form far more often than in years past and it was having certain affects on his male anatomy.

He'd taken to enjoying the view of Molly Weasley in and out of the shower as she changed, but it was far less satisfying than what he really wanted. It was with this dissatisfaction that Peter journeyed away from the Burrow on his own for the second time in less than a year.

It was easy enough to steal from muggles.

An unregistered wand casting spells in the middle of muggle London meant he could go unnoticed for a number of days before Magical Law enforcement caught whiff of the acts and actively began an investigation and by then Peter would be long gone. In his night of freedom, he used Imperious to garner a hotel room, a hot shower, and a number of clothes that made him look quite dashing.

The bar down the road was the perfect haunt. Gorgeous, curvy woman meandered in and out in dresses that left little to the imagination. At first, there was very little interest, there were even a few women who sent him disgusted looks. Soon enough though, he had them not only within his grasp but buying him drinks.

He was, after all, a wizard.

Born with power meant to rule over those with none. That was the hierarchy in the wizarding world, in schools, and in the muggle world, though they were unaware that a superior species lived in the shadows and would hardly hold such a mantra if they knew the truth of their own inferiority.

He took to one woman in particular that night. A large bosom and a number of men trying to gain her attention. With a single spell she was his though and he smiled lecherously at her over the incredulous fury written men standing around them. With gentleman like grace, he took her arm and escorted her back to his hotel for the night.

What a grand evening it was.

It had to come to an end eventually though. He knew better than to push his luck with a second night of extravagant magic use. He even thought he might have spotted an Auror on his way out. He'd turned into a rat just to be cautious and took the long way back to the Burrow enjoying the beautiful weather.

Peter was content for the first time in a long time.

In the eve, he took to dragging the Daily Prophet over to him and reading while the Weasley's slept. There was no mention of his night out several weeks ago, but he would be a fool to think that meant it hadn't been noted. The Aurors would be on the lookout for such things now.

The wizarding world was just as political corrupt and sideways in management as it had been during and before the war. The goblins were still trying to prove they deserved to have wands, there were still individuals pushing for anti-werewolf laws, there were skirmishes between muggleborns and purebloods. Really, it was as if no war had happened at all, the same problems bogging up the Ministry as before.

* * *

It was on the last day of the boy's summer vacation that Peter decided to pay Ron a visit one last time before he was dragged to school with the little bookworm Percy. One last form of human interaction before he was bound to wait whole semesters just for a little fun.

It shouldn't have surprised him to find Ron lying awake in bed, sitting fully up and staring into nothing. He encroached from the shadows and was disappointed when Ron simply stared blankly at him rather than the jerking fright that normally accompanied his visits.

"You're not a werewolf," Ron stated, watching him wearily.

Peter grinned, shaking his head as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

"And you're dressed."

When had the boy learned such a dry tone?

He chuckled as he pulled the sleeves of his suit down. He'd forgotten he'd kept this on after his fun. It was dirtied and soiled in places now, the consequences of his life. He felt the tip of his wand against his wrist, safety tucked away and still invisible. He leaned against the wall and examined Ron up close.

Things were so much different from the eyes of a rat. The circles under the boy's eyes were dark enough that they looked more like bruises. Ron gazed at him with such weariness and disdain and a defiance bolstered by his older brothers being back these last few weeks.

Peter would get rid of that.

"Werewolves have no control," Peter agreed, his voice taking on a mocking tone as he continued. "In the light of the moon they have no soul, your father said as such, or is understanding too much?"

Peter gestured towards the night sky, no moon shining through.

"And besides- " Peter dragged out the s. "I transform into any form I want, when I please, if it eases your mind to know, any day I can have things my way. I am the shadows around you. Not a cursed beast forced into a wild craze."

He reached forward and squeezed Ron's knee in what would have been a reassuring gesturing from anyone else. Ron ripped himself away. Keeping to the headboard, eyes never leaving him for a second. Alert. Ready for fight or flight even as they both knew that neither was an option.

Peter grinned.

"You told me a long time ago that you took the skin of another kid," Ron said slowly. "What was he like?"

Peter considered this as he eyed Ron. The image of young Sirius coming to mind. Peter framing him for murdering all those muggles. Betraying their best friends. Ensuring that Sirius Black went to prison instead of him. He was still there. Rotting away and being slowly torn apart by Dementors.

"I did. I've taken the skin of a number of muggle children, but it's not the same. Magical children are so much more… personal. The last magical child I took was… particularly close to my heart."

Which was true, in his heart, he still very much loved Sirius and James and Lilly and Remus. He even still loved Harry. He knew he would never be able to undo the things he'd done though, what's more, even if he had the opportunity to go back, Peter didn't think he would be capable of doing anything much different.

Peter had been forced to choose between being a traitor or being a dead, quickly forgotten hero. Either road he'd chosen would have ended in him never seeing his friends and loved ones again. Peter had wanted to live because he was a fighter. He was smarter than his friends in that way. He would never foolishly throw away his own life just for the idea that it might protect the others for a few more minutes. Voldemort had been too powerful, and Peter suspected, was still out there somewhere, waiting for a chance to rise again.

James was dead.

Sirius imprisoned.

Remus unemployed and alone.

Peter was the Marauder left standing. Lording his power over one of the families of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. It was his choices and the terrible things he'd done that had awarded him this life.

"I skinned him quickly to keep the pain at a minimal," Peter said, leering at the boy before him.

Ron looked pale, pinned in the corner as he was. In the time that he'd spent in the Weasley home, Peter could say that he had never met anyone quite like this family. Ron was nothing like any of his old friends either. Peter found he always had to be careful when in the boy's presence. If he let his guard down for even a moment, the boy tried something; an attack, an escape, manipulation.

Ron played his game, but always with the anticipation of being able to turn the tides. Every time Peter thought he'd broken the boy, Ron would pull something unexpected. There was a cunning in those sharp blue eyes that watched him. If Ron was any older than his eight years, Peter would actual be worried that he could succeed.

The Weasley's were known to be Gryffindors, but he wouldn't be surprised if Ron were sorted into Ravenclaw or Slytherine. He remembered darkly the one evening when Ron had tried to pull a kitchen knife on him. He had the Gryffindor bravery alright, the sheer daring, but there was an edge of steel to the kid that was not like the rest of his family.

"So, this kid," Ron's voice startled him out of his thoughts. "He was close to your heart, but you murdered him anyways?"

"He tried to attack me," Peter leaned forward, brushing his lips against the kid's cheek as he got close to his ear. "He succeeded in hurting me, so I destroyed him from the inside out."

Ron had gone so far as to half stand in the corner of his bed to put distance between him and Peter. He'd paled further and his fists had balled, but Peter knew he wouldn't punch him. Not after the last set of spells Peter had cast inspired by Bellatrix Lestrange. Peter held up his hand, the gnarled yellow fingernails revealing only four on one hand, the missing digit ending in a short stump.

Peter pulled back.

"But to answer your question… he was despised among his family. They disowned him, actually, even his younger brother wanted nothing to do with him. I was his friend and his end. That is the way it always is," Peter smiled grimly. "He was nothing like you. He was impulsive, always looking for the next adventure, unfailingly loyal, but with a mean streak a mile long. You didn't want to be his enemy."

Peter shuddered to think what would happen to him if Sirius ever escaped.

"Sirius was surrounded by a large family, but all alone," Peter finished, saying Sirius's name out loud for the first time since he'd framed the man. Looking Ron directly in the eye, Peter brushed his thumb against one unwilling cheek. "Just like you."

* * *

That summer evening was the only time Peter ever mentioned Sirius by name. It was the last time he talked about the Marauders at all. Carried away to Hogwarts in the bookworm's bag, it came to be that he rarely got an opportunity to stretch his limbs at all. Hogwarts was nothing like the Burrow.

Leaving the castle was extremely dangerous as the magical enchantments would not allow him to return through the wards if he dare try to leave. He got by though, sneaking into the seventh-year female baths and watching from window sills when it was easily accessible.

There was an ever present _need_ that had been born from his night of fun months ago though. His body remembered its human needs and demanded he do more than simply watch. He didn't dare. Not here at the school. It was far too dangerous. He considered escaping for another night of fun once they would return to the Burrow, but there was something stopping him.

Fear.

The Daily Prophet Percy left on his bed each morning talked about a crack down by the Auror Office, specifically by Mad Eye Moody who was training a batch of new Aurors up. The large amount of unauthorized traveling and magical use in the muggle world was reaching dangerous levels not seen since the end of the war.

The chances of getting away scott-free like his last escapade had diminished severely. He needed a new release. Or to use an old one in a new way.

Ron was nine and while Peter wasn't into men, he found the soft child's features were pleasing enough. This could work. He had earned his right to whatever he wanted with Ron. The boy had fought him and tried to kill him, after all, what was a little gratification? A little different kind of fun?

Winter break was vacation time for everyone after all.

He _deserved_ this.

He watched Ron sleep for a while, trying to decide how this should go. His spells were in place and an entire semester had passed since his last visit. The circles under Ron's eyes were gone and it looked as if he'd been sleeping well.

Peter let his suit drop to the floor.

Ron woke to a hand sliding under his shirt.

* * *

"Ronnie," Molly Weasley said stiffly, "if you don't eat at least half that plate, I'm taking you to St. Mungo's. Is that understood?"

It had been two days and Ron hadn't eaten anything more than a few crackers. Peter watched from the shadows. Irritation running through him. It was one thing to see how his fun played out, but if the Healers examined him then… That was it. Peter would have to run. There was no avoiding this now.

Ron shoved food into his mouth half-heartedly, chewing slowly and staring off into space. The nine-year-old hadn't said a word about what happened. He hadn't woken with nightmares because he hadn't slept. He was resigned in a way that Peter had never seen before. He didn't realize how close he was to getting rid of the Boogeyman for good. Didn't realize if they did go to the hospital that all of this could be over…

How could he though?

"I thought you said that Ron stopped having nightmares," Charlie whispered to Arthur Weasley.

"He has," the man sighed, "this is the first time in months that he's fallen back into it."

"I don't get this," Charlie said in frustration.

* * *

It had been eight months since he'd started having a different sort of fun with the boy. Peter was having a marvelous time. Everything was perfect.

* * *

There was a dark creature that haunted the Weasley home. It stalked them from the shadows. Watched and hunted and preyed upon the unloved. The creature had chosen its target. A child banished to the upmost floor, just beneath the basement, where the family rarely ventured.

The creature came in the night. Always. It's flesh bulging and bare, teeth yellow, nails long. It came from under the bed and grew until the form was whole. It spoke in a rasping, croaking voice that was sometimes friendly, sometimes terrible, but always dangerous.

It was a lonesome creature that sought company sometimes and amusement in other moments. Sometimes it came every night. Sometimes it came once every several months. But it always came back, eventually.

Until Ron defeated him.

For years' the Boogeyman visited. A nightmare in living, breathing flesh. A creature of legend come for him. Ron wasn't sure why it played its games. Why it hadn't killed him yet. The only thing he did know was that he was on his own.

No one believed him.

His family thought he suffered from night terrors. Nightmares. No matter how much he tried to explain to them the truth, that the Boogeyman was real, they all thought that it was just his imagination.

Sometimes Ron thought maybe it was.

After all, no one but Ron had seen him, there was never any signs that the beast had visited. The glass window Ron had broken trying to escape had fixed itself, or perhaps had never been broken in the first place. Despite some of the worst visits, there was never any marks on his skin. No matter how terrible the night was, there was never any evidence come morning. So maybe, just maybe, they were just nightmares. Maybe Ron was going crazy and it was all in his head. Somehow it knew everything Ron did.

But the pain hurt too badly.

The memory of the visits left him terrified and throbbing in mental and physical agony.

His skin felt dirty. Everything felt wrong and disgusting.

There was no physical evidence. But was he truly twisted enough to imagine those horrible things? Was Ron somehow his own monster? If it was in his imagination then was Ron a monster?

For years' the Boogeyman came and for years Ron fought.

Could all that really be false? A nightmare?

No.

The Boogeyman was real. He was real and he was a Monster and if no one would believe him then Ron would have to take care of it himself. So what if he was alone. So what if he'd been beaten at every encounter. There was still a chance.

He would defeat the Boogeyman alone.

The last time Ron had seen the Boogeyman, he'd been eleven years old and desperate.

Desperate enough that he'd stolen Charlie's wand and riffled through Bill's old curse research until he'd found something awful enough to fit his needs. He'd waited for all the familiar sounds; the creaking of the door, the contorting sounds of bones, the crack of a jaw, then the feel. Sharp, jagged, yellow nails tracing his shoulder blade. Hot breath on his cheek, an odor like urine and garbage rolled into one, and then fingers that were always moist and cold and hard against his jaw.

Ron waited until there was no chance to miss, no chance the Boogeyman could avoid or deflect or dodge. He wouldn't be caught like he had with the knife. He wouldn't be stopped like with the window. He wouldn't call out for his family to rescue him liked he'd tried so many times. Wouldn't try to escape or talk his way out of the situation or sob.

This time Ron would get him.

"Seperabunt!"

The curse came out with a thunderous roar. The Boogeyman shrieked in rage and pain as the spell's yellow light hit him square in the chest. Red splattered across the sheets, along the floor. The Boogeyman hit the ground with a twitching thud, it snarled and clawed at the ground, getting to its feet.

Then it turned.

Its jaw unhinged as it elongated. Its eyes went from an aged yellow to pitch black. Ron had seen this a few times, but never with so much red. Ron's back hit the wall, the wand shaking in his hand as he kept it pointed at the thing. It hit the floor. Ron closed his eyes, cringing at the gasping, cracking noise beneath him.

Then it was gone.

He opened his eyes and leaned forward, looking about the room, but the only thing left was blood. Shaking, Ron tumbled out of bed, his bare feet stepping into the warm sticky mess along the floor. Tentatively he tried the door.

Locked.

As always. Impenetrable. Ron tried to think of a spell to open the door, but in his haste to find a curse to defeat the Boogeyman he hadn't thought to look for something to escape. He'd hoped that once the thing was gone, its magic would be gone too. But here he was, still trapped, even as he was surrounded by its blood.

Ron sat on the floor, not wanting to return to the bed. He kept his back to the wall and wand out. The spell remaining on his lips, ready to use at any signs of _it_. But the Boogeyman didn't return.

Ron sat there until light came through the window. In the daylight, the blood looked worse, dried as it was on the floors and white sheets, almost matching his orange walls now. He tried the door one more time. Still locked. Eyes drooping, wand hand falling against his legs, Ron fell asleep curled up before the door.

He woke up to a bump on the head.

"Oh Ron," his dad's voice whispered.

Ron blinked up at him, then jerked awake, the wand coming to point outwards in front of him, but no one except his dad was there, kneeling down in front of him. Ron hastily got to his feet, looking around the room…

It was spotless.

The bed looked made.

The floor was clean. Cleaner than he'd left it before the Boogeyman showed up. The sheets were as white as ever. Ron lifted his foot, no stickiness, no stains, no dried blood between his toes.

Gently, the wand was taken from his hand. Arthur dragged him into a tight embrace. His dad's large hands pressing against his back. But Ron only had eyes for the bed. For the floors. For the orange walls no longer matching anything.

Maybe Ron truly was crazy.

Ron hugged his dad back, burying his face into his shoulder and trying his best not to sniffle or whimper. Would he be back again tonight? Three months from now? If it was all in his head then there wasn't any way to ever make this go away? Would he have to fight forever? Against his mind?

He was ten years old and much too old for it, but his dad picked him up anyways and rocked him back and forth as if he was seven years old again. Like when all of this had started.

"Do you think I'm like Uncle Bilius?" Ron whispered.

Arthur stilled.

"No," his dad told him. "Having nightmares doesn't make you crazy, Ronnie, it just means you have a hard time sleeping."

His dad laid him in the bed, tucked him in like he was a little kid.

"How about I bring up some breakfast later. When you've slept a little more."

Ron nodded tiredly, but when his dad moved to leave, he panicked, just the tiniest bit. He reached out and grabbed his dad's arm. His fingers shook and he tried to get them to stop, but they continued trembling.

"Can you stay until I fall asleep?" Ron asked, feeling entirely silly, but also exhausted and he knew that if he was left alone, he would only stare at the clean sheets and the clean floor as if they were evidence to his craziness.

"Sure," Arthur said. His dad looked down at him in concern, his large hand gripping Ron's much smaller one with as much desperation as Ron had felt last night. Ron laid down and closed his eyes, feeling his dad's pulse in his hand. Slowly his breaths evened out and he was asleep.

The Boogeyman did not return.

But he had not been defeated either.


	13. Chapter 12: Return

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

* * *

Chapter 12: Return

Ron never saw Sirius standing by the door, looking stricken by the confession.

Arthur did though.

Having his fifteen-year-old son bundled in his arms while his world crumbled around him, he glared at the man until Sirius took the hint. Guilty looking for having accidentally ease dropped on the conversation, the man nodded before retreating from the roof's door.

Later, he would command the man's silence in this. For now, he led Ron get it all out of his system before pulling him towards the warmth of the inside. They found Tonks and Charlie there, having come back from a mission, gathered in one of Sirius's many sittings rooms. It looked as if it was the last place on earth Ron wanted to be, but Arthur didn't feel right leaving Ron alone with his thoughts and memories to keep him company in that moment.

"Ronnie! What in the world are you doing here?" Charlie laughed, but taking in the sight of Ron's face, changed his tone. "You weren't suspended, were you?"

Unprepared to speak, Ron simply shook his head. Arthur squeezed Ron's shoulders, before looking Charlie in the eye, trying to convey his feelings if not his thoughts through them. Charlie seemed to get it, pulling Ron into a hug and dragging him over to the couch.

"I'm going to make some tea," Arthur announced. "Favorites?"

"Jasmine for me, if you will, Arthur, with a touch more honey than you should put in a cup," Tonks called.

"Same," Ron said with a shrug. Arthur hardly doubted that Ron was even aware of what Tonks asked for, but agreed.

"Black tea for me, dad, any kind," Charlie voiced, looking only marginally more interested in the prospect of something hot than Ron himself.

"Where's your mother?" Arthur asked, giving Ron a placating gesture when his son looked about ready to have a heart attack. Charlie shrugged in answer though.

"She wasn't here when we got here. No mission for her as of now, so she's probably just picking supplies up."

"Alright," Arthur sighed. "Okay… tea. The first step is tea."

* * *

Hermione glared down at the paper in her hands. It was Ron's half-finished paper for Umbridge this week and she'd realized belatedly that unless she wanted both Ron and their house to be punished, she needed to finish it. Each week the themes for their papers were obnoxious and targeted them with the intent to emotional harm. She was proud of herself and Ron for refraining from losing their tempers and completing the demeaning tasks without comment.

It had been one of the motivators for the D.A though, if she were honest.

Her own theme this week had been on _'Proper Administrative Tasks for the Headstrong Woman.'_ It had made her blood boil and she feared she would permanently develop a habit of grinding her teeth, something her parents would be horrified of. Ron's theme though was just as ridiculous; _'Harmful Social Toxins and How to Eliminate them.'_

Writing a foot-long essay on each of them had been the bane of her weekend as Ron's half-hearted, often sarcastic responses had been of little help to her. They'd taken to trading papers in the library these last few months, marking each other for anything that sounded like it could get them into trouble. Ron, of course, was the worse of the two of them, but she'd had her fair share of red marks returned to her. They'd laughed about it, empathizing with each other in a way that they'd never done before. It was a horrible task, only made easier by each other's company.

She would never admit it to her best friend, but Harry having Ron's badge for the weekend was the worst idea her two idiots could have come up with. Hermione had been having a hell of a time ensuring Umbridge didn't find out, not wanting Ron to have his badge taken away altogether by the evil, life sucking wench. She'd had to hide the truth of their punishments from Harry, had to write the papers, and had to teach Harry all the things that went into the job in less than fifteen minutes before their first patrol together.

She wanted Ron back.

Not just for his help, of course, but… well, yeah, for his help. She hadn't really realized how much easier it was with him around. Ron didn't like the idea of standing up to his brothers about breaking rules, but he always backed her with everyone else. Harry sort of just stood there awkwardly while she berated renegade students. He was silent during the patrol and wasn't interested in talking about their assignments. Not that Ron ever really was, but Ron always had an opinion on the assignments, and he was always so animated about anything she spoke about…

Hermione put her quill aside, letting a smudge drip down the page.

It had been twenty-four hours and she was already acting like some love-sick girl over a muggle boy band. What was she going to do with herself? He was so infuriating most of the time but she honestly wasn't sure what she would do without him, if she could even function. He was entirely insensitive and rude and short tempered and…

Fun. Witty. Charming in his own sort of way. She adored when he curled up on the couch, book still open with his fingers hooked on the corner, bound and determined to finish despite despising the contents. His breathing steady, relaxing her as she continued working across from him.

Caring. Sliding food on to Harry's plate when he wasn't putting enough there himself. Tearing up Percy's letter. Giving her his jacket when it was snowing. Blowing on her tea to cool it down before handing it to her. Pulling her hair back at the table when it threatened to fall onto her plate. Making sure she ate something when she skipped dinner to do more work. Stepping between her and any Slytherine's when they walked down the hall.

Harry was her best friend, always, but Ron was her knight. Not good with words, at expressing feelings at least, but the little things he did were always so touching and thoughtful. Ron showed through his actions that he was always thinking of them. Sometimes not even noticing he was taking care of them.

She watched her knitting needles creating more hats and socks for a long moment before stopping them. Hermione went to her trunk and shifted through all of the them until she found her favorite. It was a special shade of blue that matched the light blue of Ron's eyes. The material was softer than any she previously purchased and she'd become quite fond of it, saving it for a special occasion.

She set her needles to work, taking a special white material and tucking it away for when she got near the bottom. It should be finished by time Ron came back on Monday if she kept it up into the night and tomorrow.

She pushed her worry for him away and forced herself to refocus on the essays. It was better not to think about how faint he looked bundled between his siblings as Arthur and Molly took him away or scolding herself for the thousandth time for ignoring all the signs. It was better, more productive, to focus on the here and now and on the future. Let the needles knit and her quill write and eventually both will be done and Ron will be back.

* * *

Twenty four hours of tense hell and another row with his mum and Ron was silently waving a white flag only to have it ripped form his hands and to have _more_ demanded of him.

When Ron arrived back at Hogwarts, it was not to attend classes that day, but rather, to sit in front of Pomfrey to _talk._ Ron feared he'd make a blubbering mess of things. Again. What really occurred was much more stiff and numb. Quietly, so much so that Madam Pomfrey was forced to lean forward, he explained to the secret member of the Order of the Phoenix who the other individual had been. He told her in the briefest of details what had occurred in such a clipped tone he was surprised the Healer didn't start bleeding from the backlash of it.

She did not react in any of the ways he expected though.

She didn't call him a liar or start crying or turn hard and cold. She did not insist he was traumatized and needed special help. She did not make a scene of any sort nor did she dismiss him and claim how ridiculous it all sounded.

Madam Pomfrey remained silent and contemplative, if sad. She pulled out a set of papers from her drawer, carefully pushing them forward. Ron took them, not realizing until now that his hands were shaking. The papers were options.

A list of mind healers.

A list of books geared towards understanding and help.

Essays written by_ victims on how to cope.

Ron's mind skipped over the word. Not able to quite take it in. Accept it. He knew, technically, what had occurred. It had sort of clicked one day in the back of his mind what had taken place. It hadn't been anything big. Just a passing conversation by a couple of girls.

"…its fine. I'm fine. He just… it was uncomfortable, but I got out of there fast. He only touched my breast for a few seconds and when I screamed he let go."

"But he wasn't going to let you out of the room," her friend hissed in panic.

"But he did. I'm okay."

But she wasn't. She looked so hurt and there was a part of Ron that wanted to reach out to her, but he didn't because that would be weird. So he just started packing up his bag instead. Uncomfortable with how empathetic he was being towards a stranger. A much older Slytherine girl, no less.

"He only let you out because you _screamed_ ," the friend whispered angrily. "It could have easily turned into something worse. He could have raped you!"

"No, no, he wouldn't…." the girl said tearfully.

Ron didn't hear the rest though, because his subtle packing had turned into a frenzied need to get as far away from that word and the images it brought up as fast as possible. And just like that… it had fallen into place. Clicking like a vital piece of information missing from one of McGonagall's explanations. A label for what had happened to him.

He'd been a first year at the time of that conversation.

He'd had a night terror that same evening. The only thing that had saved him from being overheard was jerking awake before the scream had become more than a half-choked gasp. Seamus had asked what was wrong and Ron had made up some story about a spider in his bed, enduring Seamus snickering at him as the other boy fell back asleep.

Ron made a point of not brooding though. Anytime he found his thoughts wandering down that road, he'd start an argument with Hermione or drag Harry off to play a game or visit Hagrid or talk about the wizarding world outside of Hogwarts. He would demand a game of chess or… well, any distraction. Any.

It worked.

Ron had learned how to push the memories so far down that they rarely surfaced. No one knew so there was no fear of it being brought up. He and Harry never talked about sex either, which helped a lot. His brothers mentioned that girls and 'fun' were something brought up all the time among them and their friends, but he and Harry had never really been normal blokes so he'd shrugged it off, plus…

They had Hermione. She was always with them and so it had just become a thing that he and Harry didn't talk about that kind of stuff. They didn't do guy talk that much and it was such a wonderful accidental thing. They both agreed it was awkward and horrible and so it had kind of just… it didn't happen.

So, it all worked in Ron's favor.

Now though… Ron stared blankly at the other papers. The addresses for floo calls Ron could make to specialists or for advice or confidentiality. There was a pile of papers prepared for students like him and that thought was rather sickening. It was too much to think about and not enough air in the room to do it.

He shoved them deep into his bag.

"I will ensure that the Ministry and St. Mungo's knows the basics, but the details are…" Madam Pomfrey paused, tried to give him a reassuring smile. "…unnecessary."

Ron nodded blankly.

They then spent the rest of the day going through an excruciating long list of requirements he now had to adhere to in order to be allowed to stay. He spent most of the time gazing blankly down the list at his schedule and listening as she told him _teachers_ had been _informed_ of his _condition._ The words sat like he'd accidentally swallowed instead of chewed and rather than choke it had squeezed down his throat to settle somewhere at the top of his stomach. As if it were still debating leaping upwards to choke him.

He had morning droughts now. Before class. A scheduled nap in the afternoon which if it wasn't so humiliating would actually sound nice to the O.W.L.S student. He wasn't allowed to go to Hogsmeade anymore because it was too far away in case of emergencies… Ron cringed the further down the list he read. Thankful, only, that he hadn't been forbidden from attending Quidditch matches. Two years of missing his most beloved game would have seen him throwing himself off the Quidditch rings in despair.

Tomorrow was the first of November and would be the start of the season.

Somehow he managed to squeeze out a thank you to Madam Pomfrey amongst all his internal exhaustion and brooding. She was the only reason he hadn't been locked up inside St. Mungo's for over a month and he'd been damned if he didn't show her a little gratitude for the save. She smiled knowingly at him before sending him off.

He stumbled his way to Gryffindor tower, wondering idly where Harry and Hermione had got off to. He felt disorientated, like this wasn't really happening, or it was happening to someone else. It would all come to a close when he met up with them. Things would snap back into place and everyone would go back to not knowing.

It wasn't completely hopeless though.

Harry and Hermione didn't know. His brothers and sister didn't know. Ron could pass this off as catching something nasty, but normal and no one would ever have to know anything about what really happened. Peter Pettigrew could remain as a nightmare whose connection to the Boogeyman only Ron knew.

No one had to know Ron had been raped by Peter.

"Welcome back!"

Ron leaped in the air in fright. Turning so rapidly, he very nearly fell flat on his face. Ginny was looking at him uncertainly, but had her hands on hips and a determined smile on her face that belied the look in her eye. Colin Creevy was sitting in the chair closest to the portrait hole in the common room. Ginny had been sitting in a chair that would give her direct view of the entrance. From the looks of it, they were doing their homework, but Ron knew for a fact that Ginny preferred the great hall where she could sit with Luna as well.

She'd been waiting for him to return. Ron smiled tiredly and from the blush spreading across her face, Ginny knew she'd been caught. He adjusted the bag on his back and subtlely opened his arms for her.

"Hey Gin."

She responded by leaping forward and pulling him into a fierce embrace, quickly letting go in favor of giving the lightest punch to the shoulder Ron had ever gotten from her.

"You scared us, you git."

Ron looked about the room for the twins, raising an eyebrow.

"Angelina dragged them to the field. They're training with boil ridden arses. Harry too."

"Why does Harry have boils on his arse?"

Ginny laughed, hitting him again, harder this time.

"You know what I mean. Hermione's doing Prefect rounds."

"Fred and George still practicing on firsties?" Ron asked, sitting down in a chair by Colin, who was scribbling frantically at a paper Ron suspected was for Potions. The first draft sat by the fire with a poorly drawn Snape being choked to death by a snake. He snickered, hiding a yawn. He didn't want to admit it, but he was knackered.

"Nah, they're experimenting on themselves now." Ginny gestured towards her arse and Ron said 'awe.'

"I should probably go find Hermione to finish rounds."

Ginny eyed him, her eyes settling on the way Ron clutched tiredly at his bag.

"Nah, I think she'll be fine."

His sister pulled out a napkin she had in her bag and Ron smiled as he recognized the ginger snaps he loved so much. The droughts in his system had unsettled his stomach though, so when she handed them to him, Ron slipped them in his pocket for later. This act, more than anything, turned Ginny's relaxed features to stone.

Harry was sopping wet with mud covering the bottom half of his body, but when he spotted Ron unpacking his bag in their dorm room, he felt warmth return to him. He was across the room and wrapping Ron in a hug before the door finished closing behind him.

He'd been out of his mind with worry that Ron wouldn't be coming back.

"Ge' off o' me, you're squishing my cookies," Ron laughed.

He pulled away, leaving smudges of mud along Ron's face and completely unapologetic about it.

"I can't believe you beat Molly Weasley in a game of wills!" Harry announced, throwing off his wet clothes without a care. Even the draft from the window couldn't touch him. Ron was back.

"Er… more like dad's a niffler when he wants something bad enough… he was convinced I'd break out of Mungo's half dead if I thought something happened to you guys here."

The joking grin Ron wore didn't stop Harry from being reminded _why_ Ron had left. He quickly dragged dry clothes over his back and plopped down onto the bed, nudging Ron carefully, looking for any signs of illness.

"So, you're pretty sick."

Ron's lips pulled thin.

"Yeah."

"What is it?"

Ron shrugged, looked up at the ceiling before flopping backwards onto his mattress.

"Something in the water," Ron joked, but at Harry's dark look his tone turned more serious. "It's hard to explain. I caught this… contagious disease that destroys a person's immune system. It's transferred through…" Ron made a face. "…bodily fluids. Anyways, I basically feel like I'm walking around with a horrible head cold all the time. It's gonna take a while to get rid of."

Harry watched Ron, listening as he spoke carefully… avoiding looking Harry in the eye.

"Why'd you refuse to go to Pomfrey?" Harry asked after awhile of just Harry watching Ron, trying to see through the casual brush off he was getting.

"I knew she'd find something bad," Ron shrugged blankly. "Look, Harry, don't push on this. Please? I don't want to talk about it."

Alarm bells went off in his head.

Ron didn't say things like this.

Looking at his best friend, Ron was practically begging him to drop it, to distract him. His eyes hovered on where Ron's hips were exposed. The dark bruises here and there that Ron had snapped at them for talking about. The subject of clothes. The way Ron's shirt was looser on him than before and the dark circles making the blue of his eyes stand out more.

"You gonna tell me, eventually?" Harry demanded, because they didn't keep secrets.

Ron turned so that he was on his stomach, staring at Harry long and hard as if he was decided something.

"You can't repeat what I'm about to say. Ever. Especially to Hermione," Ron finally spoke, the look on his face more serious than Harry had ever seen.

He hesitated for only a second before nodding.

"I won't."

Ron nodded slowly, before swinging his legs around so that he was looking at Harry in the eye. When Ron spoke, Harry knew that it wasn't any sort of joke, or exaggeration. He was absolutely serious and it scared the shit out of him.

"There's a part of me…" Ron paused, started again. "I don't want you to know this. As my friend, as my best mate, promise me you won't try to figure it out? Just this one thing?"

Harry gaped at Ron.

"I know you, Harry, I know you have to… I know you've been deceived and lied to your whole life and I know you hate it. I'm not trying to do that. I don't want to lie to you. Ever. But this one thing, this one thing I can't…" Ron choked and that's what did it for Harry.

"I won't dig. We don't have to talk about it. I promise."

Ron gives him probably the most grateful, kicked dog expression Harry has ever seen. Ron nodded, curling up and falling asleep then and there with the lights on and his curtains pulled back all the way, with shoes and clothes still on. Harry stared for a long moment before turning the lights off and warning Seamus and Dean off from bothering or waking Ron or else. Dean grins, taking Harry's joke for what it is, but Seamus flips him off.

Hermione has returned and she looks about two steps away from ignoring Harry and rushing up the stairs, but he grips her shoulder and shakes his head in that way that she understands. This is serious. He needs to sleep. You can wait. Maybe Ron and Hermione have the silent thing down far better than he does, but tonight he and Hermione communicate everything that needs to be said without words or gestures at all.

Harry suddenly understands what it means to share concern for another person and feels closer to Hermione in that moment than ever before. The acknowledgement that they will do whatever it takes to take care of and protect Ron is a special kind of bond, a special sort of friendship. It feels like second year all over again. He and Ron staring at Hermione's petrified body, making eye contact and knowing without a shadow of a doubt that they will do _anything,_ go to any lengths to undo this and get their friend back.

He doesn't tell Hermione about the conversation up stairs though. Mainly because Ron has never begged Harry for anything like that. Ron exaggerates, but only those matters that are supercilious, only those things that are unimportant. Ron doesn't dramatize what's significant to him.

So Harry keeps his promise and doesn't say a word. He just squeezes Hermione's shoulder and tells her that they'll talk to him in the morning. He tells her its going to be okay, because now that Ron's back… it actually feels like it might be.

* * *

It's the first day he's back at classes and Ron's not quite sure how he makes it through them. Hermione helps. She sits him down and explains the notes she took on Friday. She coaches him through Charms and Transfiguration in quiet tones and Ron beams at her, because honestly… this sucks. This all really sucks and for once Hermione isn't giving him a hard time about studying and she's lost that special tone she normally carries when she talks about a subject she thinks he should already know.

It's weird to think in the terms Pomfrey had listed off so casually, rather than the ones he'd been assigning to himself for so long. Instead of always feeling exhausted, it was 'chronic fatigue.' The spots in front of his eyes that seemed to affect him at random was 'blurred vision.' His lack of appetite as of late was 'unintentional weight loss.' His constant overwhelming headaches and the confusion he'd been suffering from were, apparently, his 'inflammation in the brain.' Which, to be completely freaking honest, sounding terrifying in more ways than Ron could count.

Hermione has even refrained from asking questions, but he knows it won't last forever. She _needs_ to know things. It will get under her skin, aggravate her until she's boiling over if she can't find the answers to things she wants to know. She will ask questions, its only a matter of getting him relatively alone. She recognizes the need for privacy, at least, and Ron has half his attention on the school work and half on what the hell he's gonna say to her.

"So I can see how you got sacked from being a Prefect, Weasley, but how did Potter get the position instead?"

His head snaps up from beside Hermione and Harry to see Draco Malfoy walking towards them with his face twisting into _something_ that looks like a smile if it wasn't crawling with spiders. Ron glares, but he's too tired to put up a fight. He still has more classes to get through, getting involved in an argument is just… beyond him right now.

Luckily for him, Harry never minds.

"Back off, Malfoy," Harry says coldly, stepping in front of Ron like a shield. He feels relief fill him and notices with bemusement that even Hermione has put herself between him and the blonde git.

"Touched a nerve, did I?" Malfoy says idly, looking Ron up and down with glee. "Not looking so hot there, ginger, get disowned or something?"

"I smell desperation and loneliness," Hermione steps in, shocking both him and Harry. "Let's go before it starts to soak into our clothes."

She tugs at his robe and pulls Harry by the arm. She never gets involved in the arguments Malfoy starts in surprsie and its part of the reason she manages to get them to go along with them.

"Don't worry, Weasley!" Malfoy calls out after them angrily. "I'm sure the house elves will take you in!"

Hermione throws back such a venomous glare Malfoy's way that the git actually balks at, stalking off towards his class. Harry pulls out the Prefects badge and hands it back to Ron silently. He really doesn't want to take it, if he's being honest, the thought of doing the treatment and Prefect duties makes a small part of him cringe.

But then he reminders the essays for Umbridge and what that bent of a woman might do if its known that Harry was doing his Prefect duties for him. His fingers grasped the badge and he gives Harry a weak smile.

Its just a different type of fighting now.


	14. Chapter 13: Pendulum

Chapter 13: Pendulums

Arthur feels sick standing here, in front of _this_ door. He can hear a mug clink down onto a desk and the sound of a quill moving across papers. No doubt pristine white instead of the standard creme colored the Ministry favored. 'The marks show up better when I'm correcting work,' his boy was fond of telling him. He always had the urge to talk about how muggle's liked their paper perfectly white as well, but he knew this son hated to talk about his work with muggles.

He does not want to have this conversation.

He does not want to be here at all. Especially with the recent string of articles coming out with Percy's name labeled within them in support.

But Percy didn't know.

He'd written Charlie and Bill and told both his boys in no uncertain terms that they needed to get a full examination and there was no debate on this. Full- from head to toes. Including sexually transmitted diseases. He didn't like to think about the idea that any other child had been hurt in that way, but he had to be sure.

Tightening his resolve, Arthur opened the door.

"If it's another message from Winston, tell him I don't have time to look over his proposal today," Percy said without looking up from his desk.

"I'm afraid not."

Percy's head shot up and Arthur winced at the sound of a breaking quill.

"Get out."

"Something terrible has happened," Arthur said quickly. "I just…" he swallowed hard, "I'll be out of your hair in a moment. I just need to talk to you."

"I don't want anything more to do with your lies!" Percy snapped, standing up from his desk, looking as if he wanted to bodily throw Arthur out of the room.

"Ron's been hurt!" Arthur snapped.

Percy's mouth shut with a snap. He paled as his stride turned into a stumble and when he looked at Arthur it was with a vulnerability he hadn't seen in a long time. Arthur mentally cursed himself. He hadn't meant to go into any specifics. He hadn't even meant to name Ron at all.

What was that muggle saying? In for a drop of water in for an ocean? No, no. It was something like that. Arthur cleared his throat. There was something thick there, something lodged deep in his esophagus that would not leave him be.

"Ron was…" he stopped himself. Trying to word things as carefully as possible.

"What?!"

Blast it all.

"Someone hurt Ron in a… in a terrible way and now he is very sick."

"Why are you being vague?" Percy snapped. "This is Ron! What… was he involved in something with Potter and now he's hurt? Are you covering for that… that…"

Percy spoke as if he could not quite find a word deplorable enough for Harry and Arthur had to bite his tongue as his insides turned to stone.

"This has nothing to do with Harry," he said softly. "What happened to Ron happened a while ago."

Suddenly Percy gave him the side eye, a sneer spreading across his face.

"Oh? Godric's dirty garments, why have you come here? Just to… to mess around with my head? To say something like…"

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose as Percy stomped back towards his desk. There was no way to say this without saying the truth… was there?

' _Forgive me, Ron.'_

"Ron was raped."

Percy stopped with his back to Arthur.

"It…" his words came out choked. Like ash. "It happened when he was younger and he… he didn't say anything, but… he's very sick, Perce. He has a sexually transmitted disease. I came here today to… if you were ever hurt like that… I just want to make sure you knew to get checked out. Okay?"

His voice is thick as he talks and he feels tears sliding down his face, but he doesn't wipe them away. He won't be able to finish this talk if he does.

"Please, Percy, I'm just asking you to get checked out. And to keep silent. Ron doesn't want anyone to know. He wants to tell family members on his own and in his own time, but… with the way, things have been… I…"

Percy still had not turned around. His fist was clenched and his body rigged.

"Who?"

Arthur straightened at the furious whisper. When Percy turned to him, there was a cold fury there the likes of which he'd never seen before. Not even when Percy had sworn to never speak to him again. Arthur bit his lip, more than aware of how the answer would affect his boy.

"Peter Pettigrew."

Percy's eyes widened.

"The rat I gave to Ron? The… the death eater… I gave to Ron?"

Like a pendulum swing, the cold fury swung to devastation and back again. He watched the deadly cycle of anger and pain for only a moment before he was there, steadying his son by his shoulders.

"That was not your fault," Arthur told him, shook him. "Not your fault."

"But I…" haunted eyes came up to look at Arthur. "Charlie found the rat in the garden… but it was me! I was the one that begged mum to keep him! I…"

His son gagged and Arthur only had a second to summon the garbage can over to them before vomit spewed in it and around it.

"It was small and sickly and I tended to it! I took care of him! I… No. No… you're lying!" Percy didn't believe that though. He could feel it in the desperate hold his boy had on his own shoulders now. The way those blue eyes searched his own. "Please, please, please, tell me you're lying."

"I'm sorry," Arthur said, pained. "I'm so sorry."

He pulled his son into his arms much like he had Ron not so long ago.

"Ron promised…"

Arthur paused at his son's words. He pulled away just enough to see Percy staring off into space.

"Ron promised nothing happened. He promised me!"

The pit inside of him widened.

"I think Ron would have taken what happened to his grave if he hadn't gotten sick," Arthur said quietly. "As it stands, he doesn't want to talk about it at all. Pomfrey and I are the only ones who know right now…" [And Sirius Black, but like hell was he going to tell Percy that.] "We've got the other kids checked out. All fine. Bill and Charlie agreed to go get checked out without me having to explain anything. So… it's just you, me, and Pomfrey for now. Even so, Ron wouldn't tell me anything specific. He shut down and locked me out. I'm not sure…"

"Why don't you start with having some personal time with him," Percy said slowly, the bitter note that had been there for so long returning. "Before you try to break his rib cage open and rip the answers out, try to just… spend time with him. With just him… play chess or take him to breakfast or… or something, it doesn't really matter what. Be more than just… a parental figure. Be his dad."

"I…" Arthur stumbled, feeling like he'd found the root to the real problem between them. Outside of the political mess, the real monster that had swallowed them whole and had been sitting like an abyss before everything else got in their way. "I'm sorry, Perce."

Percy wiped at his eyes, his glasses being shoved up into his hairline as he sniffled loudly and turned his back on Arthur one final time.

"Get out," Percy said roughly before quietly adding, "please."

"Alright."

Arthur stopped though, at the door, staring at the brass knob his hand was tightening around.

"I love you, Percy, please don't doubt that at least."

He left then, closing the door as quietly as possible because he remembered. The resounding noise of Percy slamming the front door shut months ago. How that sound echoed in his nightmares now.

Arthur took an unsteady breath and did the only thing he could.

He took one step forward.

* * *

Ron had fallen asleep on the couch. Hermione was torn by exasperation for the unfinished homework crumbled against his stomach and relief. Ron hadn't been sleeping well these last few days and Ginny, Fred, and George had been hounding him to tell them what was going on.

Not that Hermione didn't want to hound him herself. His insistence that he'd just caught something nasty and they didn't need to worry was sending up all sorts of red flags. From Harry's alarmed expression every time Ron did something odd, she'd guess he felt the same way.

Not 'Luna Lovegood' quirky odd either. No. More like out of nowhere, 'out of character,' and 'sort of frightening' odd.

Like sitting on a bench on the way to the Great Hall and saying he just needed a minute. Pushing his food around on his plate and only eating after Harry nudged him in the side three separate times. Falling asleep in random places. He'd fallen asleep on top of Neville's trunk yesterday during a game of SNAPS! which was impressive in its own right considering the game was all about loud 'bang!' noises, wasn't it? He'd also been falling asleep in classes too. Just this afternoon, most recently, in Binns history class. Which, okay, even Hermione found that class boring. Really, the Professor had memorized the books and never ventured outside of what she'd already read. It was rather disheartening. Especially since History could be so delightful. Ron would really enjoy it, she was sure, if they just had a Professor who was… well, not dead.

Whenever she told him little snippets of history, he was always fascinated by it. Like when she explained how muggles viewed World War II. He'd surprised her by going on and on about the dragon division invested in both World War I and World War II. How Grindelwald had been a central part of starting strife in the wizarding world between the great wars and how his actions had affected the muggle world's severe depression in the 1930s.

It had been wonderful.

Not the war. Obviously. She wasn't a sociopath. The conversation though had really shown her that Ron loved to learn too. He just didn't like the classroom environment. He'd been annoyed with her though when she pushed history books on him to read on his own. It was… Hermione didn't want to say pissing her off, but that was a very accurate description of her feelings. She felt, not that she would ever actually do it, but there was an urge to throw a book at his head to see if he might absorb it _that_ way.

Truly, it was such a waste, to have someone as brilliant as Ron sitting right next to her and him doing everything in his power to not read. That wasn't very fair either though, was it? He read their textbooks and they discussed things all the time, which was great fun indeed, but didn't he see? All the possibilities they could discuss if he would just…

Hermoine snorted into her tea.

She was doing it again.

She set it down and made a mark on her paper where she needed to add a note on why Gertrude Hamilsmith's tactics on applying a charm to her carpet for protection within the home had been wrong because thread wore away much more readily than stone or wood. She smiled fondly down at the redhead.

Ron had taught her a charm for 'moving ink' in a fit of exasperation for her repeatedly using new paper to rewrite her essays every time she wanted to add something in the editing process. She reached over and carefully pushed his hair out of his face, pulling the paper set against his stomach and bringing it to herself.

A part of her wishes she had the mental restraint to set the paper down, but she found herself looking over his work, tutting at a few misspelled words and the poor opening paragraph. Not really an introduction to his work at all. It hardly seemed he knew where he was going with it, even though they'd discussed the protective charms in depth before ever starting the papers. Really now, he could do much better than this.

She scooted closer, the chill of the November air having gotten to her and Ron always a furnace of heat. Her elbow brushed against his arm, tucked in against his ribs and head laying against the arm of the couch. His legs were curled under him and Hermione brought her own legs up on the couch Indian style so her knee overtook his leg. Feeling much warmer now and great deal more content, she ironed out the paper until it wasn't nearly as crumbled as it had been before. She glanced over at Ron, biting her lip, before looking down at the paper.

Well, it wasn't as if he could turn this crinkled mess into Flitwick anyhow, now could he?

Besides, Ron wrote the central bulk of the essays just fine, he was just terrible at structuring his ideas. Really, it was a bit of a literary crime how abysmal he was at doing something so simple as listing his rather brilliant ideas in a clear and concise manner right at the start. She wasn't the only one to note this. Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick had made such claims on his returned papers, noting the only thing stopping Ron from having top marks on his papers, was the lack of clarity, not the research or content.

Ron's conclusions were always well written too, which was just as frustrating. It was as if he figured out his essay as he went along! She sent a dark look at the boy. That was perhaps what irritated her. She wasn't asking for effort, she was asking for just a tiny, little bit more effort. Wasted potential, that's what Ron was, absolutely wasted.

She suspected that's why Ron had been made prefect. It was obvious what was there, the teachers could see it! They could grasp it. In Ron's papers and in his school work. They could see the gem shining underneath all the dust and debris and dirt and they wanted it to shine just as brightly as she did.

She wrote suggestions for better structure on the paper. Rewriting the introduction paragraph altogether and suggesting he switch two of his paragraphs within the bulk, drawing arrows of a concept he really should introduce much earlier in his essay if he wanted to make his point clear. She wrote his list of points at the top, reminding him that he needed to put those in his introduction paragraph so it tied everything together nicely.

There!

She hadn't added any references at all. She was rather proud of that. With Harry, it was always a lot harder to touch his work than Ron's. Not that Harry was a bad student, but he often tried to make two or three arguments in the course of one essay instead of focusing on one and pursuing that. Where Ron lacked structure, Harry lacked focus.

Ron woke up soon after that, stretching out like a cat, bones cracking and jaw popping as he yawned. She had to hide a blush as he glanced at her, noting the fact that she'd moved closer to him while he'd been sleeping. Her knee crossing his thigh.

He didn't pull away though or adjust himself.

Instead, he ruffled his own hair, messing it up more than before and gave her a hooked grin, half his teeth showing. When he sat up, they were so close that their shoulder's bumped into one another, but Ron seemed entirely unconcerned with their proximity and Hermione certainly had no intentions of breaking it herself.

"I see you've been busy," Ron said casually, picking up his paper and smiling down at it.

Hermione tutted.

"Well, not all of us can fall asleep in a public place, snoring up a storm."

"I was not snoring," Ron dismissed, before glancing subconsciously at her from the corner of his eye. "You're joking, right?"

She stared back at him blankly, raising her eyebrows in that way Molly Weasley tended to do when someone has asked a stupid question because she knew how much it unnerved him. He blushed, muttering darkly to himself as he started gathering his things up, including one of his shoes that had fallen off in his slumber.

She couldn't do it.

She cracked up.

"Ah! I knew it! You little sneak!" He pointed a finger at her accusingly. "Why do I always trust the women in my life?! I should know better. Blimey, that's wicked mean."

"If you're that self-conscious about it then you should probably sleep in your bed and not in the middle of the common room," Hermione said primly. "It's not as if you can control when you snore and both Harry and Ginny say you sound like a bear."

"As if either of them have met a bear"

Hermione's eyebrows went up again.

"Stop that! Evil woman. You've got to stop impersonating my mother, its wrong on so many levels."

"Effective though."

He stabbed a quill in her direction, giving her the stink eye.

"Not nearly as effective as you might think," Ron told her darkly. "It's more anxiety-inducing than motivational, you know. What would you do if I started to impersonate that thing your father does."

"What thing?" She squeaked.

"That… that thing he does that you hate!"

"You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, I would!"

As if to prove his point, Ron clicked his tongue far too loudly for it to be natural. The sound of one sucking their tongue to the top of their mouth with an ungodly wet noise until a loud 'pop' resounded. He did it three more times and she responded with a pillow to his face.

"Violence! Do you see her?" Ron called, startling a group of first years walking through the portrait hole. "She's assaulting me!"

They stared and whispered to each other in wide-eyed fear.

Ron clicked his tongue again.

She hit him harder. A few feathers floating about.

"It's fine! He's being an arse!"

"Now she's cursing at first years!" Ron cried out in horror.

"Oh, stop it!"

She blushed as she realized she had, in fact, cursed. The children looked absolutely lost and unnerved by them too. She gave them an apologetic smile. Ron was having none of that though, he did the sucking noise again, practically glowing as her annoyance skyrocketed. He smirked at her as he fixed the pillow, waving his wand absent mindedly and they both watched as the feathers almost lazily flew back inside of the pillow before it began to knit itself back together. He wasn't saying the spells out loud, much to her delight. If she were to tell him that out loud though, the magic would come to a screeching halt as if it too realized its mistake. Ron only ever faltered when he knew he was doing something impressive.

If she told him a spell was a basic level one before they began practicing it, then he naturally took to it. When she told him what level it actually was though? It only ended in frustration and failure. She'd never met anyone quite like Ron who was literally his own worst enemy.

The first years scurried along, wanting to avoid the Prefects attention. Not that Hermione could blame them. They had acted rather immature just a moment ago, but Ron's smile was worth the mischief.

"So what were we working on before I conked out?" Ron asked, picking up his paper. He grimaced as he saw his marked-up paper. Nodding along as he read over her instructions. "Bah… thanks for this." He waved the paper around, pulling out new sheets and using her markups to guide him as he carefully rewrote it. "How do I introduce the protection spell before I talk about carpet integrity? Isn't that how the whole argument is presented first? With the carpet?" Ron muttered.

"Don't start with the argument," she said sternly. "Introduce the concept you have here at the bottom, where you suggest using the actual foundation of the building from the get-go as its being built, to place permanent protection spells down. Then introduce what people normally do, such as the carpet, and put forward why it's a problem."

"Oh! I see, okay, makes sense."

She smiled brightly at him, nudging him playfully as he scribbled down a new introduction. He smiled back, the dark smudges under his eyes a mar against his too pale skin. She found herself watching the way his eyes trailed the paper, blinking a little too hard as he refocused on their work.

His hands were trembling.

She bit her lip as she watched the usually smooth writing jerk a bit. Making his K's too dramatic and lengthening his L's too far. The messy writing was legible though, so she didn't say anything. Nor did she mention the sweat rolling down his face or how he wiped at it every once in a while, sounding exhausted despite the fact that he'd just woken up from an hour nap.

The door swung open.

The Gryffindor Quidditch Team came through, looking knackered and bruised up from head to toe. She made a noise of sympathy in the back of her throat though she didn't voice it. They chose to play and practice Quidditch after all.

She pulled away from the couch, untangling her shirt from Ron's elbow to wave at Harry from across the room. The Boy-Who-Lived bumped shoulders with Fred unconsciously, the redhead pushing half-heartedly at Harry in retaliation. Behind them, Katie was supporting Angelina who still managed to continue giving advice and instructions despite a clear gash on her head.

She looked on in amusement as Harry tried to sit on the couch with them and Ron pushed him off with his foot.

"Shower, you abominable mess of stinking dung," Ron laughed.

Harry moaned in response.

"Give the man a break," George moaned in response as if he were part of the same herd of animal and 'moaning' was their means of communicating. "So many dives. I can't feel my arse!"

"Full body numbness?" Ron gasped. "Sounds dangerous."

Fred swatted Ron across the head half-heartedly.

"Prat."

George though was snickering.

"That was actually a good one," George muttered.

Hermione covered her mouth at Ron's wide-eyed stare. He turned to Fred who was showcasing his own version of Molly Weasley's eyebrows.

"Fred, I think you should escort him to bed, he's much worse off than we thought," Ron called.

"For once I agree with you," Fred muttered, grabbing George by the elbow. "Alright! Off to bed!"

"Oh bugger off, it's not the end of the world to agree it was funny!" George muttered even lower than before, but he did slump rather hard against Fred so the argument was moot.

Cormac was the last of the team to stepped through the portrait hole. He looked, oddly enough, rather well kept and clean compared to his teammates. He flashed them a smile and shook his head, as if exasperated with them all before heading over to the boy's dorms. Angelina looked read to wrap her scraped, nail cracked hands around his throat.

"Hopefully we'll be able to have a better practice tomorrow," Cormac said with a sniff. "When the others are on my level."

Angelina reached for her wand.

Hermione jumped up with a shriek, grasping at the worst situation possible.

"Is he worth detention with Umbridge!?"

Angelina paused, a small twitch spreading from her right eye to her nose, and the wand raised a little higher.

"Think about your team!" Ron cried out. "What if she bans Quidditch?!"

"She can't!" Angelina said, slightly hysterical, the wand shakily raising half an inch.

"What are you lot on about?" Cormac asked, coming to a stop in front of them. Hands on hips, looking genuinely curious.

"There's a lot of things we thought she couldn't do," Hermione pointed out reasonably.

"You're going Oliver Wood on us, we need you to come down now," Ron said, carefully pulling her wand from her hand.

"Now Oliver Wood was a Captain!" Cormac said thoughtfully. "There's a Quidditch man who knows how to lead a team."

Angelina snatched her wand from Ron's hand and sliced the air with a hex. Hermione's half-cocked shield diverted the attack, causing the carpet at Cormac's feet to burst into flames. The blonde yelped before leaping back and looking incredulously at Angelina.

"What has gotten into you?!" The sixth-year Gryffindor demanded angrily, puffing out his chest, looking very much like an indignant hen than whatever he was attempting to impersonate.

"Just leave her be, you troll brained woodless broom," Ron snapped.

Oh.

Hermione hadn't heard that one before.

"I haven't done a bleedin' thing to her Majesty," Cormac threw back. "I've only ever tried to help. It's clear she needs it. You should have seen how she was leading the practice today, Weasley, an absolute mess!"

"Mess?" Angelina snarled. "You took Fred's beater from him to show off and hit it right at Katie! You broke her broom! She fell on George and when Fred and I tried to catch them we all hit the ground! HOW IS THIS NOT YOUR FAULT!?"

"I did the job of a beater perfectly," Cormac sniffed. "It was Katie who couldn't dodge."

Ron grabbed Angelina around the waist, as she threw herself at him. Hermione pulled Cormac away, practically shoving him up the boy's dorm stairs.

"You'll serve detention with McGonagall if you continue acting like this!" Hermione warned.

"But I haven't…!"

Hermione gave Cormac a fierce glare. He scowled and muttered darkly under his breath, but finally, _finally,_ began to ascend the stairs.

When Hermione returned, it was to a babbling Quidditch Captain half sitting in Ron's lap on the couch. The frazzled, run down, mud covered seventh year looked torn between murder, frustration, and pure grief.

"I have one year to prove myself and I'm stuck with him!"

Ron patted her shoulder consolingly.

"You can always find someone else," Ron suggested.

"Not this close to the game!" Angelina moaned. "But…"

Hermione did not like the look of light that entered the young woman's eyes. Angelina turned, looking at Ron as if she'd found a gnome repellant in the middle of a siege.

"You're a Weasley!" She cried out, looking Ron up and down as if he were a piece of meat. Ron, for his part, looked taken completely back by her cry of delight. "By Godric's Will you sun kissed lot are practically split from the womb on a broom! Please tell me you fly? Of course, you do. You all fly."

"Percy's not a flyer," Ron reminded, looking still too shocked to respond properly or to be distracted by the normal melancholy that came with that name. Angelina waved that away as if she were being offered a rotten piece of fruit.

"An anomaly. Please tell me you're not an anomaly?"

"I'm not?"

"Then we're fine! How are you at Keeping?"

"Not bad?"

"I'll take it!"

Ron looked utterly gob smacked.

Hermione though, felt the complete opposite.

"He can't!"

Ron tilted around Angelina to look at her, his eyebrows raised in an unimpressed manner as she sputtered. Angelina too appeared less than pleased with Hermione's interruption to their somewhat private conversation. It was at this moment Angelina realized her position on Ron's lap and hurriedly removed herself from him. Standing more rigid and formal as she worked to straighten her clothes and hair.

"He can't what?" Angelina demanded.

Hermione's hands unwound from her shirt, the wrinkled material falling loose in front of her as she turned her anxiousness outwards.

"I don't mean… It's just that he can't join the Quidditch team," Hermione insisted. She looked to Ron to help her out, to explain, but he stood silent. As Angelina turned her full attention to her, Hermione saw Ron make a 'go on' gesture, the smallest angry furrow to his brows.

The point being obvious: 'So you're going to talk for me?'

She grimaced, trying for an apologetic smile, but Ron made no move to help her out.

"So, you're dictating what he can and can't do now?" Angelina asked sharply.

"No, no, not me… Pomfrey said…"

But she didn't know what Pomfrey said. Ron still hadn't told her anything. She glanced over at Ron, pleading for him to help. Ron did not though. He shrugged at her and folded his arms.

"Pomfrey said what?" Ron prompted her.

Hermione scowled.

"You know," she hissed at him before turning to Angelina. "He's sick. He can't play."

"I don't need him imm…" Angelina cut herself off, turning pointedly to Ron. "I don't need you immediately. We don't have time to train anyone else up before the game, but after this one, maybe next week? I could put you through the ropes, see what you can do, and if you make the cut then Keeper position is yours."

Hermione tensed.

This was everything Ron wanted. But he couldn't. He couldn't do this. He was in no condition to play Quidditch games and certainly not to participate in the sort of intense training Angelina was putting the others through.

Hermione caught sight of a fiery glint of anger in Ron's eye. Oh, no. He was truly going to do this. He was going to put his stupid desire to play a silly game above his health. She'd go to Pomfrey. She would. Even if Ron was angry with her for the rest of the year she would go to her and tell the Healer what Ron was doing. Surely Ron would have to see sense if Pomfrey scolded him for…

"I would love to."

Hermione's heart leaped into her throat. She half turned, grabbing her bag furiously to head to the Hospital Wing.

"But I can't."

Her books fell onto the floor as she dropped them and Hermione very nearly tripped over them as she stumbled forward. Angelina made a noise of frustration in the back of her throat and when Hermione turned around it was to see the Quidditch Captain looking visibly upset. It was Ron though, who it really hurt for her to see. He looked crushed. Eyes downcast as he spoke.

"I'm sorry, but it's true that I'm erm… that I contracted something right nasty and I'd be right hopeless to you right now. Pomfrey's got me on a treatment that's pretty rough and I'd probably faint before I ever managed to float up to the rings."

"Is it truly that bad?" Angelina said, using a much softer tone than before. "Fred and George haven't mentioned it. Not once."

"They only realized something was wrong a few days ago," Ron admitted. "I haven't really wanted to broadcast it."

"Right," Angelina nodded along with him. "Smart move. Fred's a 'harass first and realize later' sort when it comes to crossing lines. Still, I'm surprised I haven't heard anything from them. Their observant blighters, the both of them."

Ron waved his hand.

"Only to things that catch their interest."

Hermione winced. Angelina looked torn, clearly wanting to defend them, but her shoulder's slumped and she gave another, more reluctant nod.

"You know… they really do care about you. They have every expectation you're going to come out of the woodworks with some career they'd never even considered or was possible or that even existed. You're the only person who can still surprise them."

"Oh, I think I'm going to surprise them all right," Ron muttered, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. "Right out of their skins and toe-nails."

Angelina looked as lost for a response to that as Hermione herself was. The Captain settled on patting Ron gently on the shoulder.

"Well, we're all here for you, if you need someone to lean on."

"Thanks and…" Ron hesitated before sighing. "Ginny's right brilliant on a broom. She's better suited to a seeker or a chaser position, but she'd make a better Keeper than Cormac."

"I'll keep that in mind."

When they were alone in the common room, Ron glanced at her, a lost expression on his face.

"I wasn't going to agree to join the Quidditch team, you know. I wish you would have trusted me a little."

Hermione pressed her lips together before shaking her head.

"When it comes to the things we obsess with," Hermione said carefully, "you're just as stubborn as I am. If I was offered a library, I'd read every book, even if one might have a Tom Riddle in it."

Ron looked horrified at that though.

But he didn't argue with her either.


	15. Chapter 14 Brittle Truth

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

Chapter 14: Brittle Truth

Harry knew something was wrong when Umbridge pranced into the room. There was a gleeful air about her as if she'd caught the smell of a baby's tears on her way to the classroom. The Gryffindor's tensed at her mood, watching nervously as the woman traced Defensive Magical Theory with one short finger.

Dean Thomas, two seats to his left, glanced over at Harry. He could feel the warning in his eyes, trying to silently encourage him to not saying anything. Seamus looked as if he'd smelled something bad.

"I was under the impression," Umbridge began, a girlish giggle escaping her as she sat down at her desk, "that Mr. Potter has been a terrible influence."

The woman scanned the classroom, her eyes slowly moving from one person to the next. Neville shifted uncomfortably, glancing back at him and giving him a small, weary smile. From the first desk to the last, hands were still eyes followed the toad's movements. Everyone was on edge.

Umbridge swiveled slowly around in her chair until she was leaning back casually and staring with a quill between her fingers. Harry watched her, waiting for the ball to drop, waiting for the next set of punishments. Waiting for whatever she had to throw at her.

"Perhaps it's not Mr. Potter's fault."

The class blinked. Then blinked again.

"As a woman of great responsibility and privilege, I cannot divulge the names of any students involved in the… discrepancy."

She smiled at them, and it was a genuine smile that reached her eyes. Harry leaned back, exchanging worried looks with Hermione, murmurs could be heard traveling the classroom, but for once Umbridge didn't stall the conversation or try to interrupt. Even her customary hums were absent.

"However," she said evenly, as the murmurs finally quieted. "The person involved has been in a position to greatly influence Mr. Potter and I can only assume that such terrible influences are the primary cause of his… mental imbalance."

Harry struggled not to rise to the bait, Hermione gripping his arm like iron.

Umbrige continued in a lilting tone.

"I'm sure all of you are aware that there has been a mandatory checkup for all students announced. In the next few weeks, each of you will be examined and while the professors and headmaster wish to lie to you about the reasoning behind it, it is the responsibility of the high inquisitor to teach and inform its students about the dangers they are being exposed to."

Harry couldn't help it. He snickered. Umbridge sent him a withering glare, before continuing.

"I do not talk about dark wizards, of course, but rather the terrible acts performed by students at this very school. Acts that pain me to speak of, but that must be addressed."

Umbridge stood to her not so impressive height, puffing up like a mating toad as she walked up and down the aisle of the DADA classroom.

"All the students are required to be examined because one student here at Hogwarts has contracted a very contagious disease," Umbridge announced, grinning ear to ear. The murmurs turned to full-blown shrieks. Most of the students showed suspicion, shooting Umbridge weary looks of disbelief, but for the few who believed, there were shouts of panic. With a wide, malevolent smile, Umbridge signaled for the class to quiet down.

Harry, who'd been furious but a moment ago, stared at Umbridge in bewilderment, trying to figure out what the woman's angle was and what it could possibly have to do with him.

"Do not fear," Umbridge continued, "the disease can only be caught in one way. As long as you follow my decrees, you will be safe." Now even the ones who'd been panicked a moment ago were eyeing her, slowly coming down from their anxiety to feel the trap they were all slipping into. "AIDS is a sexually transmitted disease, it is lethal if gone untreated, and symptoms rarely show until the third and final stage."

The room had gone deathly silent as students looked at one another in suspicion as if the illness could be seen on the skin. Maybe it could. Harry didn't know anything about AIDS, though Umbridge was probably lying through her teeth or changing the details to fit her needs. He turned to Hermione, in the middle of rolling his eyes when he caught the expression on her face.

White.

No, ashen.

"You can't actually believe her?" Harry muttered.

Hermione glanced at him, her mouth opening and closing before her eyes shot to her lap.

"Hermione?"

"The symptoms of this awful disease," Umbridge spoke up, above the students. "Are exhaustion, unexplained bruising, headaches, lack of appetite, and the breaking down of the immune system which leads to vulnerability to illness."

Harry stilled.

His eyes locked on Umbridge to find that she was looking right at him. The connection was suddenly clear. She smiled as if she could see the realization on his face. She turned to the rest of the class, lighting up with all the cheerfulness of a dog having gotten its bone.

"This lethal disease is nothing to sniff at," her lips were curling upwards, her eyes delighted despite the 'concern' in her voice. "It is lethal and I urge you to see Madam Pomfrey, our dear Healer if you experience any of those symptoms, but as I have stated before, everyone will have a mandatory date due to one student's foolishness. You are safe as long as you follow my decrees as the High Inquisitor."

She tapped her wand against the blackboard. Upon it appeared several of her decrees.

 **#26 Boys and Girls are not to be within six inches of each other.**

 **#37 Boys must be seen to keep their hands outside of their school capes**

 **#82 All students will submit to questioning about suspected illicit activities**

"I never believed I would have to add this decree," Umbridge shook her head as if disappointed in them, "but the transference of a sexual disease to a student of this school leaves me no choice."

She tapped the board again and a new decree formed.

 **#140 Any sexual activity performed will end in the expulsion of both students involved.**

"As this decree was broken by a student before I became High Inquisitor, they will unfortunately not be punished for this severe infraction of the rules. As the student has not come forward with the other person involved, all students must be tested. I ask that they come forward willingly, as their life is in danger. This will stay on the board for the duration of our lesson today, as a reminder of their importance."

She tapped the board and all the letters shined in bright pink.

With a wave of her wand, all the textbooks turned to the next lesson, 'the dangers of incorrectly using an offensive spell.' Harry wasn't paying any attention to it though. He was too busy staring at the board, at the pink toad monstrosity meeting his eyes with contempt.

And then the worst happened.

Ron came through the door.

Eyes shadowed and sagging in exhaustion, his school bag held in his arms like a shield. He stumbled as he walked and seemed completely out of it as he made his way towards Harry and Hermione. But not quite out of it enough not to notice the tension in the room. He looked to Harry questioningly before glancing about the room. No one would meet Ron's eye. Harry half stood, going to grab Ron by the arm, to pull him down into the seat. But _she_ spoke up first.

"Mr. Weasley," Umbridge simpered in merriment.

Ron stood straighter, turning to face her much like a kicked dog might. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the familiar note, but she waved it away.

"I am very much aware of why you are late. Madam Pomfrey explained everything to me," she trilled happily.

The sickle dropped along with Ron's bag.

The students broke out in a flurry of whispers. Ron gaped at her in horror. His eyes moving from the students to her and back again. Hands shaking, Ron began to pick up his bag while Umbridge looked down at him.

Harry couldn't take it anymore.

He jumped to his feet, rushing to Ron's side and helping pick up everything as quickly as possible. To get Ron out of that thing's sight as soon as possible. Neville met him there. The three of them easily gathering everything up, though Ron looked about ready to bail, to run from the class like the hounds of hell were on his feet. It was only Neville's hand on his arm that stayed him.

They retreated to their seats. Ron shaking. Neville looking sick. Hermione, appearing to have spontaneously combusted at her own seat. Her dark curls tilted forward enough that the entirety of her face was hidden.

'All Umbridge's fault.' Was his furious thought. He had never hated anyone more than this 'thing' before him. This infection of a human being.

Umbridge tapped the board.

"Before you interrupted the class, Mr. Weasley, we were discussing the new decree. I suggest you study it as if your… life depended on it."

Ron sunk into his seat, staring at her blankly before his eyes landed on the board itself. Harry watched as Ron stiffened at the set of decrees in abject horror.

"Before you interrupted class once again, Mr. Weasley, we were discussing how there has been a terrible disease unleashed in the halls of the castle and how to avoid being contaminated," Umbridge informed him happily. Harry gnashed his teeth together as Ron sunk lower. "Do you know, Mr. Weasley, how to avoid contamination of AIDS?" She asked sweetly.

Ron's mouth opened and closed with a click, the dark circles under his eyes standing out much more against the ashen shade rapidly taking over his skin.

"I thought not," Umbridge simpered. "How many times have you been late to class this week, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron remained silent.

"All excused because of… what are you sick with again?" She smiled, her voice honey-like in its thickness. The whole class was staring now. Waiting for Ron's response, for the snarky, bold attitude he was known for.

Ron didn't say anything though.

Harry jumped to his feet, glaring in fury at the woman, but he didn't have the chance to say a single thing because Hermione had stood up too. There were tears at the corner of her eyes and a look of hatred so dark Harry found himself falling back into his seat.

"It's good to know the Ministry of Magic deems harassing students as acceptable behavior from its run of the mill employees," Hermione said coldly. "Is this a tactic that they teach in the internship phase or something that just naturally occurs when one's head becomes fatter than an inbred troll's?"

"Bloody hell," her heard Seamus whisper.

Beside Harry, Ron looked torn between horror and delight.

"Hm, hm…" Umbridge seemed to choke on her own spit, looking livid as she folded her hands in front of her body. "It appears as if Potter is not the only one who has been negatively influenced by such filthy sources. Thirty points from Gryffindor and detention with me this Friday night should suffice."

"I wasn't aware you had influenced Harry at all," Hermoine said darkly, her bushy hair appearing to have a life of its own as she bristled in fury.

"A full week of detention, Miss. Granger," Umbridge said decisively. Despite her short stature, she leaned over Hermione and gave a tight smile. "We all want to try to be the best that we can be. It has been proven to me that Mr. Potter and Miss. Granger have had terrible influences around them, and while it may not be entirely their fault, we should seek to get rid of those influences. Shouldn't we?"

At this, Umbridge turned to look Ron directly in the eye, who shrank away like he'd been slapped.

Harry couldn't stand it.

"How would we go about getting rid of our DADA professor then?" Harry asked.

Umbridge was not deterred in the least.

"It seems we must increase the positive influences by tenfold. Tonight? Mr. Potter and Miss Granger, at eleven?" Umbridge turned to Ron. "And Mr. Weasley… I do believe you still owe me an essay… why don't you join us tonight as well so that we can all work together to eradicate all manner of filthy influences, yes?"

Before any of them had time to react, Umbridge walked to the front of the class and turned about face, wand waving and words highlighting across their textbooks as the pages flipped once more.

"I believe a different lesson is appropriate for today," she said lightly. "Chapter 17: The Weary Wizard's Guide to Creatures of Treacherous Intent. When we go out into the world, we must all carry with us, an expectation that humanoid magical creatures may appear as pure beings capable of communication, but their minds work differently than our own and should be treated with caution."

Harry twitched at the sound of Hermione's quill snapping.

"She's the decomposing rot of a Dementor's corpse," Hermoine hissed. "I've never… I can't believe…!"

* * *

As they fled Umbridge's classroom Harry kept a firm hold on Ron. There were several points on the way to Gryffindor Tower when Ron leaned heavily against him as if his legs were deciding if they wanted to give out on him or not. Hermione folded her arm around his waist, angry tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

Hermione peered at Ron before meeting Harry's eyes. He could see the hurt and questions shining there, but for once in her life, she wasn't pressing for answers.

"Why don't I go grab some food from the great hall and then join you in the tower?" Hermione asked, voice so very soft.

"That's a great idea," Harry nodded.

They both looked to Ron who appeared to want to be anywhere but there. As if simply concentrating on the floor might cause it to suck him down into the marble to hide away.

"Sounds…" Ron choked, nodding instead, running his hand through his hair harsh enough that Harry saw a few red strands fall onto the floor. Hermione then did something she'd never done before. She stepped forward and pecked Ron on the cheek. Ron's startled blue eyes met her own and Harry felt very much out of place at that moment.

"It's going to be okay."

Ron apparently, did not agree, his mouth going from surprised to a tight line. He looked away from her but nodded. Short and sharp and cut off. Hermione looked upset but pressed her own lips together to stop herself from saying anything more.

Hermione tilted her head towards the Fat Lady's portrait as if to say 'what are you waiting for?' Harry full-heartedly agreed and quickly ushered Ron up the stairs and into the boy's dorm.

Harry fiddled with his bag for a long moment as he tried to think of what to say. Everything seemed insignificant though. Ridiculous even. It was clear with how Ron had rebuffed Hermione's attempt at reassurance that going that route wasn't likely to…

A thud caused him to jump. A crash made Harry whirl around. Ron stood above his turned over trunk, a small hole in its roof where he'd obviously lashed out and kicked it.

"Ron?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Harry stared wide-eyed as Ron began pacing their dorm room. Tugging at his red hair viciously and running his hands through the strands. He looked wild. Like a cornered animal.

"Ron."

Ron wasn't breathing right. Shallow and too fast. Harry had never seen Ron look so unsteady and could do little more than stand there and continue to grip his shoulder in… comfort? Reassurance? He had no flipping clue.

Harry had been keeping his mind carefully blank, trying not to think of anything but getting Ron out of there as fast as possible. Now it was all flooding his head, taking up every nook and cranny in an overwhelming surge of emotions. Harry stumbled forward as Ron began to pace, the muscles under Harry's own hand were tense and stiff. Ron shook and Harry forced him to turn to him.

"Ron!"

Ron finally snapped.

"I can't do this! I can't do this! I can't! I can't. I can't."

"What are you talking about?" Harry said, alarmed. "No one's going to force you to do anything. You're fine."

The air exploded around them and Harry was shocked to see black rolling clouds spreading out across the ceiling, small lightning strikes streaking throughout the room. Harry looked down to see that Ron's wand was still in his pocket.

* * *

She was not an easily startled woman, but when a full-sized stag of light bursting into her chambers while she was changing certainly gave her a fright. To hear Mr. Potter's frightened voice, usually so sure of himself, was truly what set her on edge.

"Ron! I mean... Ron needs help, its… he…"

She did not wait. With a flick of her wand, she was dressed and running out of the door. Goodness, if one wasn't in trouble, then it was the other. She was even more unsettled due to the recent conversation with Pomfrey. She sent for the healer as she ran, just in case.

Thunder sounded.

Minerva paused as she glanced outside to see clear skies.

"Resilience!" She snapped as she walked through the portraits opening. The Fat Lady gave her a curt nod, looking much unsettled. A fact that reminded her distinctly of Sirius Black's break-in only a few years ago.

Inside her lions stood around the staircase, leading into the boy's dorms, clouds pouring out from the ceiling of the stairwell. Dean Thomas turned to her looking pale and shaken.

"It's Ron! Umbridge told everybody about… well, she gave a lecture on…" Dean exchanged a nervous look with Neville.

Seamus took over, looking disgusted.

"Sexually Transmitted Diseases. It weren't any stretch to connect the dots with the way she was going on about all the side effects and the way Ron's been lately. She wasn't being subtle either, with the way she kept going on like a bleating goat about the student being a bad influence for Granger and Potter. She might not have said his name, but she made a freakin' banner sign and wrapped it around the guy."

Minerva swelled with anger.

Every time she thought the despicable woman could sink no lower, she found a hole in the bottom of the bucket. She rushed past them and up the stairs, two at a time. Rain hit her skin as she entered the fifth year dorms, but she did not feel water. This was a conjuring of the weather, much like in the great halls, a seventh-year NEWT level she knew she had certainly not taught yet to her fifth years.

Minerva came to a stop inside of the dorm room. On the opposite side of the room, fingers tearing violently at his own hair sat one Ronald Weasley. Harry Potter sat in front of him, hands on Ronald's shoulders, shaking them lightly as he spoke words of reassurance and platitudes of nonsense. Ronald was shaking his head, trembling from head to toe, his long limbs in a heap as he breathed out words almost too soft to hear.

Almost.

"It wasn't supposed to… No one knew! No one knew and… fuck! I wish… I wish Neville never found me."

"What are you saying?" Potter's voice was strained and indeed Minerva herself felt stunned.

"They can't know," Ronald moaned, "they can't."

"No one does know. I don't know!" Harry cried out in frustration. "I don't know why you're acting like this. I know it sucks but people will talk and then it will die down. No one who knows you will actually think you… you know…"

His words trailed off and Minerva cringed.

While her student was clearly well on his way to becoming a young man, it seemed that there were still plenty of things he still had to learn. He was still so young despite his many trials. He understood abuse, he understood battle and danger and cruelty, but this was still not a part of his world.

She was greatly saddened to see it was a part of Ronald's world though. She'd known when Pomfrey told her the news both because she knew the healer so well- could read her body language, and because she liked to think she knew her student.

Here, seeing the wide-eyed terror, so unlike his normal carefree and open nature in her classes or his frustration while working through a problem and so unfamiliar compared to the young man who casually faced off against Umbridge in her office… this was her confirmation. An old, terrible wound the boy thought buried. A dark secret so grotesque it made her stomach clench in revulsion.

Ronald had gone quiet. Still. His hand's dropping from his hair. Above them, the storm shifted. Black clouds now unleashing thick snowflakes, frost icing over the windows and furniture in the room.

Potter read the situation wrong. He did not see what Minerva was witnessing if the encouraged look that split across his face was real.

"How many times have rumors started about me, huh?" Harry tried to draw his friend out. "They always die eventually. You're going to be alright."

"Harry," Ronald spoke quietly, pained, "this isn't about lies going around. It's about the truth getting out."

Potter's face flickered, a blank look taking over his features. He looked so lost. She stepped forward, startling him. Ronald appeared unsurprised. She had wondered if he'd noticed her presence or not.

"There is nothing I can say to fix this situation," Minerva said carefully, trying to emulate Albus's softer demeanor. She had never quite mastered this part of her job. Preferring to leave distraught students to Albus. "But I can promise you this, Mr. Weasley, she will suffer repercussions. Blood quills and biased essays and now this… these acts upon children are worthy of investigation. I have been searching for solid proof to bring to the Wizengamout, but have not been able to until now. With your permission, I will take your essays and a written statement to try to get her removed. Miss. Granger has provided both already."

"Is it enough?" Potter asked so quietly Minerva almost missed it.

She didn't know


End file.
